


11 Vials

by Cerrone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-19 13:10:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3611247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerrone/pseuds/Cerrone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione relives a love affair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 8, NARCISSA'S HOUSE

Somehow she always seemed strongest when her back was against the wall. She was resilient, strong, and kind. Though, regardless of her mettle she wasn't immune to the _charms_. It was almost unbelievable. Almost like a mirage. Here, stretched out across the boards, those silvery flickers hiding in the edges of limbs. The walls shrieked with life when she was here. Her own cries echoing, coming back to challenge and inquire. It was like a smoke that would not rise. A sort of shadow. A sort of grey. Everything. Everything was grey. Except for her. The gentle pinks of her mouth would spill out with her screams. With her breath. Hair the colour of straw and a whole body  _filled_ with red blood. She did not match. But Bellatrix wouldn't have wanted her to. The whole house was filled with grey figures. Black Figures. Platinum blond figures - and this girl. Her limbs didn't match the furniture. They were much too gentle. Their youth, and the strong skeleton beneath her skin. She had never known the kiss of a Dementor nor the sleek claws of madness. No. She did not fit. 

 

Bellatrix circled the witch as if tugged along by an unseen gravity. Orbiting slowly as her eyes grazed and scraped over the figure. She practically saw the breath from her lungs cascade down onto the girl, making her twitch. Hermione, the Mudblood, began to reach out for the seams of the floor boards. Her nails clicking into the crevasses when her fingers failed to grip the sleek wood. Bellatrix watched as the girl shifted her weight from one side of her hips to the other, writhing on the floor. Across the wood and through the soles of her boots she felt the girl's heat, it pooled around her as thick as spilled blood. And these floors had known that many times before. Still Bellatrix circled her, her gaze like spears and her footfall heavy. Words formed and slipped from her mouth, which fell as blurred nose onto Hermione's ears as still she clung to the floor boards. The Death Eater paused her movements and raised her wand to the girl and uttered her favourite word. Instantly the witch's body seized with wracks of pain as her muscles tensed in waves. Bones close to the surface of her skin rattled against the floor as Hermione tried to retreat from the jet of red hot magic pumping into her chest. Bellatrix's teeth caught her lower lip as she felt a jolt fire across her shoulders. 

 

Then, their eyes locked. Wrought across the girl's face was a look of understanding. She knew Bellatrix needed this. And Bellatrix hated that she did. The dark witch bent at the knee and stooped down to the girl. Their faces inches apart. She could see the glassy trails of torture and dirt built up on her skin. She could smell the cold earth on her. The trees. The blackest nights. She could smell Hermione's arousal. It cut through everything as delicately as breath and as forcefully as a Cruciatus. Bellatrix could practically feel her own eyes grow dark as she remembered taking Hermione against a tree in the woods, and here she was now against the floor. 

 

The dark witch grinned broadly and said, almost plainly, closer to the girls face, "Hello." An insane giggle skittered from Bellatrix's lips.

 

The space between them was familiar. The way their breaths mingled into warm air. The way Hermione challenged Bellatrix to move closer simply by not moving herself. The way they moved together was easy, and intuitive. Their bodies knew each other, even if their allegiances tore them apart. No one would have noticed it, except Bellatrix, in that room when Hermione shifted her body towards the dark witch instead of away from her. When her fingers reached for the claws wrapped around her wrists, pinning her to the floor. When her eyes drifted, as slowly as she liked, over the body of the woman. No, only Bellatrix would have noticed this. The dark witch still had her wand pointed at the girl as she rose from the ground. She lifted her head from the auburn eyes and turned them around the room. As if in search of something else to play with. Her breath increased and her fingers clenched as she turned back to the girl. Bellatrix could see the rapid rise and fall of Hermione's chest as oxygen ceased to be enough. 

 

Calmly, Bellatrix again stooped down to the girl. She scooped up the fabric of her dress and positioned herself so she sat astride Hermione. In her new position Bellatrix could see the witch's pulse seizing under her skin. Carefully shifting her weight forward the Death Eater held her wand against the girl's cheek, pushing her head to the side so that she might catch a better view of the paroxysm. She could practically feel the strong muscles of the girl's jaw flex and release under her wand. Slowly, she dragged the implement, the wand, the weapon, over the hard flesh of jaw and down the sinewy neck until it caught in the hollow of her collar, where Bellatrix began probing gently into the soft flesh. The breath in Hermione's lungs was stopped, momentarily, as the wand compressed internal structures. The witch's eyes began to water and a redness rose in her face but she did not quiver. She  _trusted_ Bellatrix. She knew Bellatrix. She wasn't afraid. Silently, Hermione had given her permission, given up her body - to be used and to be broken by this beautiful dark witch. A smouldering grin spread across Bellatrix's face and the flesh of her lip turned white as she sucked the tissue into her mouth and sunk her teeth into it. Hermione's limbs were still spread across the floor, but now her fingers dove from her palm to their extremes as she desperately tried not to touch the dark witch. Perched on top of the girl Bellatrix found great joy in watching her struggle with her convictions, in watching the  _profound_ effects she had on the young witch. On the young Gryffindor. People must have thought she was panting because she was afraid, that her body was twitching beneath the witch because she wanted to get away. 

 

The dark witch slowly lowered herself down, she put her hands on Hermione's shoulders and forced her into the floor with her own body weight. "Scared are we?"

 

Confused, Hermione's gaze shifted between Bellatrix's two eyes rapidly, not sure what was going to happen next. Quickly, and like an animal, the dark witch stooped even lower. Their faces were only breaths apart and they were both completely obscured from view by Bellatrix's dark hair. A carnal giggle slipped from her lips as the smooth tip of her wand once again dug into the hollow of Hermione's neck. And then, as delicate as gossamer, a single utterance again slipped from her mouth.

 

"Crucio."

 

The most guttural of noises began to spill from the young witch, coming from deep within her as the curse wracked her body. Veins in her neck bulged and her limbs pounded the floor. Bellatrix pinned their foreheads together and looked directly into the eyes of the girl as she was destroyed by the Cruciatus. At the moment of infliction Bellatrix had inhaled sharply, wanting to internalise the experience of this girl's, this victim's, pain. The hot and coarse expulsions sent further jolts through the dark witch who, by now, was breathing hard herself. The sharp claws of the Death Eater latched onto the joining of Hermione's shirt, her knuckles pressing into the blazing skin beneath them. With a strong, swift motion of the arm Bellatrix tore open the top half of the shirt in her clutches. A noise of surprise crawled from the girl's open mouth as the dark witch pointed her wand at the girl's exposed heart. Their eyes met, then, for a moment. She looked into the auburn eyes of her prisoner who looked back with broad pupils. Hermione's mouth hung open slightly as Bellatrix refused to look away. The wand at the girl's chest begun moving back and forth, caressing the skin. Were it an organ Bellatrix would have entered her. Hermione feared she might anyway.

 

Suddenly, in a blur of black and luminescent grey, Bellatrix was torn to the girl's forearm. Her face exceptionally close to the skin as the air was filled with the scent of blood and metal. Screams ripped though the house while Bellatrix and her dagger were transfixed on the match of pale, soft flesh. As slits were carved into her arm Hermione's free hand flew through the air and bound itself into the dark witch's hair, who smirked at the contact. She felt the digits desperately tug at the back strands as her work neared completion. Bellatrix flung the dagger across the floor and raised her wand to the bleeding wound. A whimper came from the girl, who was latched onto her. She could feel the witch's muscles tense in anticipation of pain, in anticipation of curses, or magic. But no pain came. Instead, Bellatrix whispered into the cuts, her wand gently grazing over the bloodied skin. When she was done the dark witch buried her face against Hermione's neck, who shivered when the hot breath kissed her flesh. 

 

"You're mine now, " the words came as a whisper, "and when you're all alone you'll know it." A quiet moan escaped from the girl and Bellatrix was thankful no one heard it. Beneath her lips she could feel the girl's blood rush to meet her as an unbelievable heat washed over the skin. 

* * *

 

Air rushed into Hermione's lungs as the watery grip of the Penseive let her go. Her chest rose and fell rapidly trying to draw precious oxygen into her lungs. While her heart slowed, and her mind still raced, she covered her mouth with her hand and looked down at her arm. Slowly she peeled back the sleeve of her shirt to reveal  _Bellatrix_ faintly scrawled into her flesh. Gently, as if too much pressure would erase the scars, she ran her fingers over the raised letters, which had been charmed to read differently when she was alone. No one ever understood why she refused treatment for the  _Mudblood_ cut into her by Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione covered the name with her hand, she liked the way it felt beneath her palm. A smirk spread across her lips as she turned from the Penseive in search of another vial. 


	2. Penseive

Hermione's eyes hovered, gingerly, over each glassy vial in the rack. Her eyes lingered on the curves of the things, on how the light seemed to diffuse over them. They were beautiful in their own right, even without taking into consideration the memories they held inside. These vials might as well be holding unicorn blood for all their value to Hermione. How long had it been since Bellatrix had touched them? Carefully she lifted the rack of vials out of it's crate. As she hauled them through the air the glass vessels rattled and her ears were filled with a chorus of delicate collisions, like notes on a scale. She put them down by the Penseive, with it's weathered stone column. She was thankful for this room, Everyone else seemed to have forgotten about it. It's dusty floors and dry air seemed thankful that she was there. The Penseive, too, seemed thankful for her. Who knows how long it had been down here alone. There were no windows in this room, only a door for access. Hermione had lit candles around the room, their feint orange glow hitting every surface, every fleck of dust. There was a fireplace here too, it's mouth overflowed with ashes and she suspected it hadn't been used in decades. Candles around her carefully exhaled, their breathy spasms casting flickering shadows across all surfaces. Pushed into the corners were piles of drapes, beneath the piles were disused pieces of furniture. Hermione knew not of their forms but smiled to herself as she noted that even the wizarding world was plagued with dust.

 

Hermione lowered herself carefully down onto a pile of drapes, she felt the material beneath her compress and heard whatever piece of furniture beneath that groan. She let the breath slip gently from her lips and too, let her eyes linger on the small rack of vials. A smile crept over her mouth. They were such precious little things. Again she looked down towards her forearm, where the pale white  _Bellatrix_ resided. She lifted her arm through the air until the soft flesh collided gently with her lips. And in doing so she felt infinitely connected to the dark woman. The sensitive strips of tissue felt the name in so much more detail than her fingertips. The slits almost felt fresh like this. 

 

The Manor. The blood. It all became so clear to her now, but distant at the same time - as if she were recalling a dream she'd had. Hermione had watched it all but felt everything from Bellatrix's perspective. Witnessed herself writhing on the floor and heard her own screams. It was surreal. She had felt the woman's breath stagger in her own throat as Bellatrix had stalked around her like an animal. She had felt the irrevocable twinge fire across her shoulders. And the  _Crucio_. Merlin, it felt incredible. It was as if in flying from the woman's wand as a jet of red hot magic it also flowed though her body, through her core, as a visceral, hot liquid. Hermione was impressed with herself, really, she had been brave in face of the woman. In face of the animal who had gotten a taste of her blood. It was a wonder she made it out of the Malfoy Manor unharmed, casting the Cruciatus curse felt ecstatic and retrospectively she wouldn't have minded so much if Bellatrix had cursed her into the ground. Here, Hermione bit her lip lightly, musing over how the woman would  _react_ to that sort of excess. A smile came across her mouth then as she realised that, in Bellatrix's memories, her name had been Hermoine. Not  _filth_. Not _Granger_ and not even  _Mudblood._  

 

Bellatrix had never struck her as the romantic type. She never seemed one to dwell on the past. And yet here, sitting plainly by her, were 11 vials of Bellatrix's most precious of memories. Catalouged, suspended, stored. Though, they were never intended, it would seem, for her own use. In reliving her  _experiences_ at the Manor, Hermione had to break a seal around the lip of the small frosted vial. It was like cracking open a tiny glass body. Carefully Hermione reached over to the rack of vials and lifted up a vessel. Scrawled across a yellowing parchment label read 'NARCISSA'S HOUSE'. She had always loved Bellatrix's script, even if she did insist on writing in capitals. The first time she had seen the fine tangle of lines produced by the dark witch it had taken her by surprise. So unexpected it was that from this wild woman came some of the most delicate brushings of ink. In a way that only Hermione could appreciate, this made Bellatrix all the more irresistible. There was nothing quite like a certain appreciation of penmanship. Her eyes flicked between the graceful curves of the letters on the vial and the crude scrawlings on her arm. Such a contrast it was - the sharp points of the  _B_ against the smooth confidence of the  _S_. It was truly something, and it almost made Hermione blush. She wasn't so different really, from the vials in front of her. They were the property of the dark witch as much as she was. Labelled. Marked. And full of the memories of Bellatrix Lestrange. 

 

Gingerly, she replaced the vial and clasped her hands. She wondered, then, where the woman was. What had become of that sadist, that creature, amidst the fighting and violence at the end of the war? Hermione dared not look for her. Even now. Her fingers again grazed the tips of the vials, their bodies delicately colliding with each other in high tones. She began lifting the precious objects from their simple cradles cautiously letting her eyes devour the text on each. Had Bellatrix stored all of her memories? Or was it just these ones? Could they be used to prove her innocence, or confirm Hermione's guilt? No one should ever find them. Lest Hermione be dead already. If the wizarding world could see her now. She had always been such a  _good_ girl, they might say. No one suspected a thing, when they were together. Bellatrix was such an overtly sexual creature that Harry and Ron thought she was simply tormenting Hermione. That she merely took pleasure in making the girl twitch and squirm. Well, they were mostly right. 

 

Nothing was quite like Bellatrix. Her scent. Her taste, here, Hermione's eyes fluttered shut, recalling the profound effects the woman had on her. She was everywhere. Undeniable. The smouldering depths of her eyes always rocked the girl, always set her off balance. It was as if all the world's smoke and smog was swirling around inside the dark witch's head creating an infinitely deep and infinitely desirable space, exposed only when their eyes met. Her taste, Merlin. Hermione sighed. It was overwhelming. It was plunged and forced into her body when they kissed. It was like absolute intoxication. And the pain. The pain. She never knew she could like such intense pain so much. Sometimes, when they were connected, Bellatrix would drag her through immeasurable extremes of pleasure and hurt. There were moments when she thought her conflicted nervous system would fly free from her convulsing body. And there were times when she though she would weep at the profound and thundering strengths Bellatrix stirred within her. Hermione could hardly bear thinking of the woman when she wasn't near, when she knew nothing would be enough. The vials, of course, were the closest thing she had.

 

And so she let her fingers settle on the next vial. She let the digits crack open a waxy seal. She watched as the liquid spilled into the Penseive and she smiled low as she leaned forward into the water. 


	3. 1, HALL OF PROPHECY

She was lost, for a time, in the absolute sensation of Blackness. Still, the woman's footsteps came veracious and confident. After all those years in Azkaban it was no wonder she could see in the dark. The witch practically floated down the corridor, the hem of her dress dragging behind her like dead weight. Up ahead she could hear the unmistakable drawl of Lucius Malfoy, but she showed no sign of haste. She loved to watch the coward squirm in the face of Potter.  _Itty bitty baby all grown up._ Bellatrix laughed. 

 

The woman began to form words, but they came as a blur. Though apparently their meaning was not lost on her immediate company who looked directly at her with both fear and courage battling for dominance behind their sweaty brows. More laughter slipped from her mouth, presumably directed at the platinum blond man whose lips hung slightly agape at her choice of entrance. He never could keep up with her. In any respect. From across the divide of empty space between the two groups of witches and wizards Bellatrix's eyes launched toward the Mudblood girl she had heard so much about, who looked terrified of the Death Eater's presence. Again Bellatrix spoke, but instead the memory focused on the faces of Harry, Ginny - the youngest Weasel, Neville and that Mudblood. Their pasty flesh looked worse than hers had when she'd flown free of Azkaban. These little children ought to spend more time in the sun and now crawling around in the bowels of the Ministry. Her eyes came again to rest on the frightened girl in the back, who was clearly trying so hard not to even glance at the infamous witch. As if by some show of dominance Bellatrix flared her eyes at the girl, peeling back her eyelids to reveal madness her pupils contained, to ward off her wayward glances - but she didn't even flicker. Stoically she stood, with her brows pressed slightly together. Bellatrix had heard about the Mudblood's strength and power, her command of magic and her sheer theoretical knowledge. It was insulting that such a filthy creature ought to possess such a gift. If she were deserving of it, then the dark witch would surely leave her be. But proving her worth was another matter. A practically impossible feat for someone of her...  _status_. It was a challenge, Bellatrix decided, that the  _girl_ had wordlessly agreed to. She would torture, scare and grind the talent right out of her - or hold it more firmly in place.

 

Lost in her own thoughts Bellatrix was suddenly drawn from her head by an explosion of magic. All around her spells erupted. Debris flew from all sides and Potter and his motley crew took off in a fistful of directions. Again and again she heard them yell ' _Stupefy_ ', it was such disappointingly simple magic for all the hype around Dumbledore's Army. Here she scoffed, but it was lost into the clouds of ashen magic. Scolding hot curses flew through the air, mostly from her wand. In such close quarters none of the other Death Eaters were game to cast Unforgivables. The fools. Sublimating into smoky particles Bellatrix shot toward the  _Mudblood_ and her insolent friends. More and more spells burst from her wand. Showers of luminous substances propelled themselves at incredible speeds and the dark witch followed fast. Her own chaotic laughter ripping through the air like a blade through flesh. Occasionally she would drift down towards the floor and let her feet pound against the surface, throwing her faster forward. Wild Cruciatuses wretched themselves like great pails of glowing blood at the heels of her enemies. Ahead she could see the auburn hair of the Mudblood drag through the atmosphere. She cast Crucio at that too. Louder and louder she laughed, she never felt more alive than when she was chasing down weak little prey. Weak little traitorous prey. She saw the girl ahead of her twist her body around to face her for a split second as a spell of her own flew back at Bellatrix. With no time to react the scalding hot magic hit her square in the chest, or, the ashen particles that would make up her chest. The wind was knocked from within her and for a moment her pursuit halted. An animalistic cry clawed its way out of her mouth as the sadistic beast within her was awoken. Now she would take great pleasure in destroying the girl. Well, even more than before. She screamed for her pride, the gravely, guttural expulsions reaching the ears of her prey and striking fear within them. Around her the walls of glass began to collapse. Thousands of orbs began crashing against the ground as she roared like an animal. Tearing herself closer and closer to the Mudblood. Nobody could hit Bellatrix Lestrange without  _swift_ consequence. The air in her lungs turned to grit as she screamed louder. There was a reason she was the most formidable Death Eater, the most vicious, the most  _feared_. Unforgivable curses flew from her weary mouth like escaping creatures, like bats and swallows finding great comfort in the darkness. They pursued mercilessly. Closely. Absolutely. 

* * *

Hermione was thrown out of the Penseive with such force that she toppled off her feet and landed on the floor. The crushing weight of asphyxia untangled itself from her body as rainbow flecks churned in her vision. Between her starved lungs Hermione's heart raced. She could feel the powerful surges of blood gush though her entire body. The racing blood was followed, then, by a pouring of adrenaline as the unfittingly humble rack of vials rocked and swayed towards the edge of the table they sat on. Their glassy chorus this time become more urgent as waves of percussive force, from Hermione being launched out of the Penseive, wrought havoc on their small statures. She gasped. She cursed. She felt her heart tense and jump. And then she lifted her arms, her limbs, to steady the vials. Nothing could happen to them. Their contents could not be wasted on the indifferent floor. 

 

She had been thrown out of the Penseive by Bellatrix's feverish memories. By her ferocity. Incredible, really. Hermione lifted her arm from the now steadied glass bodies and raised her hands to her face where she wiped the drips from her chin. She smoothed her hair back and simply sat, for a moment. Her lungs and her heart refused to calm. Beneath her rubs she felt the organs thumping, it sent a sickening feeling of percussive churning up through her neck and into the back of her throat. She felt the familiar burn of bodily fatigue wrack though her. 

 

Bellatrix truly was wild.

 

Slowly Hermione lifted herself off the ground, her legs crying out in pain beneath her and her abdominal muscles quivering with effort. It was as if she had been running along side Bellatrix. As if she'd flown through the aisles of the Department of Mysteries herself. When she was at last standing, after much groaning, Hermione pre-emptively moved the small, seemingly insignificant, rack of glass vials out of harms way. To the corner of the room, away from her wayward limbs. 

 

But the memory was incomplete. She scanned over the labels, the finely scrawled text, for any mention of the Ministry or the Hall of Prophecy. Lightly her fingertips danced over the lids of each as she searched, but then her eyes fell on a label she had not, somehow, read before. Carefully she lifted it, it's weight surprised her and a gasp slipped from her now parted lips. Closer and closer she brought the vessel, when it was near she pressed it to her chest and closed her eyes tightly. Again she felt her heart beating, but this time it was not from fatigue. She dragged the vial upwards through the air, to meet her lips, where she ran it's cool surfaces over sensitive flesh there. Still she remained for a time, allowing the heat from her body to revive the inanimate object, to warm the liquid inside. However, upon drawing the glass away from her mouth Hermione set it back down, to be held in place once more. She could not bare to look at it now. She would save it for last. She was overcome, then, again, with the incredible value of these vials. They were utterly priceless to Hermione and no doubt the most valuable thing she had ever held, or at least, a very close second. Did Bellatrix know their wealth? She hoped that the dark witch was gentle with them and stored them well. They certainly weren't contained, however, as if the woman had placed much value in them at all. They were hardly like the witch. 

 

Again letting her eyes wander over the 11 labels eagerly peering at her, Hermione's digits settled on a surprisingly honest scrawling written in Bellatrix's beautiful script: THREE BROOMSTICKS. 


	4. 4, THREE BROOMSTICKS

Such an unfortunate room. Others may have called it  _humble,_ but to Bellatrix it was an insult. It's floors were poorly maintained. Dust had settled on near every surface and the windows were coated in an opaque film of dirt. In any other situation she would have killed the stinking inn keeper in a heartbeat - for keeping such a stinking inn, but these were the only grounds where  _they_  could meet. So she stood, uncomfortably, in this room. With it's  _humble_ bed on such a  _humble_ scale. She hardly understood how they expected people to sleep in that thing. It was scarcely wide enough for one person, let alone two. 

 

Outside the sun had set hours ago and the sky was coloured by the blue smoke of inhabitancy. The usual murmur of living died down. Dead silence. Dead silence and tramps groaning about their lives in the gutter. As far as Bellatrix was concerned anyone who frequented this horrid place deserved to end up in the street. The street, at least, would be cleaner than this sty. With the addition of a Dementor or two it could be comparable to Azkaban, truthfully. Here she grimaced. The dank, fetid walls of that hellish place were never far from her thoughts. Sighing, Bellatrix stooped onto the edge of a table. Lifting the mass of her body off the floor with ease. Casually she swung her legs back and forth, musing about the wasted lives squirming down below. Drunkards, tramps and fools too stupid to see their own failures. They were too stupid to even flicker at the Death Eater who had walked right by them en route to this  _room_. 

 

The girl had proved herself, yes. She appreciated magic. She appreciated powerful spells. She understood the irrevocable commitment to the cast that each witch and wizard must make and she understood the toll on the body. She was different from those street dwellers, those  _idiots_. She respected magic. She worked for it. It was almost enough to excuse her disgusting blood. Almost. Here, Bellatrix smiled. There was nothing to her, at that moment or any, like a truly crippling spell. Spells to leave the victims retching for all their weaknesses. She removed her wand from her side and held the weapon in her hands. So many fond memories. So much screaming. She twirled the implement between and around her fingers, in a familiar gesture, recalling all the splendid pain it had once caused - and would no doubt cause again.  _  
_

 

Just then her ears picked the sound of footsteps. Footsteps on the landing. Silently she slid off the edge of the table, taking quiet steps across the room. Her whole body pricked with anticipation. Her muscles twinged with absolute stillness. Bellatrix raised her wand and a jet of water shot from the tip. Extinguishing the fire. Plunging her into darkness. The edges of her form were impossible to define now, her hair and her clothes were as black as the night, which now seeped in through the windows. She moved, without noise, over to the door. Her feet lifting and returning to meet the ground so deliberately. She would make no sound. Bellatrix stood behind the swing of the door, whoever entered the room next would not see her. Would not hear her. The footsteps edged closer, the collisions cutting out a rhythm in the silence. She breathed in slowly, as if the friction of air passing into her lungs would alert the being to her. The breathing might give her away. She exhaled. The witch's eyes frantically scanned though the darkness for any trace of noise or tell tale thud - and stopped breathing all together when she heard the door handle of the room creak with use. She could feel her eyes open wide, like the vicious animal within her was about to burst out. The door sighed open on it's hinges and the being lifted it's feet. Around the edge of the door a hand came slowly into view. The pale skin reflecting the moon light, seeming to glow. After the hand came the rest of the arm, the tips of toes and thick waves of straw coloured hair.  _Granger_. At first the girl peered around the room and then, silently, she shut the door behind her. Her footsteps were gentle now, not wanting to provoke the creature that undoubtedly lurked within this cave. 

 

"Lumos." It came as a whisper but the room was lit up in an instant.

 

It was the signal Bellatrix needed. Almost immediately after the room was washed with a brilliant white light it was plunged again into darkness. The dark witch launched herself from the corner at the girl, who let out a cry of surprise. She manipulated the body beneath her hands and pushed it up against the wall. Looking right into Hermione's eyes, which reflected the street lamps outside, Bellatrix was at her wildest. Fear washed the girl's face. The woman leaned in and asked low-

 

"Did anyone see you?"

 

Refusing the witch an audible answer Bellatrix kept the hand clasped over her mouth. She felt the rapid intake and expulsion of breath as it was forced out of her nostrils and cascaded over her digits. The girl's eyes were wide, but she shook her head all the same. Satisfied, Bellatrix released her and walked back over to the window. For a moment the room was filled with heavy breathing and the sound of rustling clothes. 

 

"Light a fire." She ordered.

 

Complying wordlessly Hermione stooped to the fireplace, "Incendio."

 

The dark witch turned to the girl. Enraged. Furious. A snarl crept on her lips as her blackened irises bore holes through her company. She raised her wand. The young witch flinched. Instead another jet of water shot from the dark witch's wand and extinguished again the flames churning in the fireplace.

 

" _Without_ words." She hissed.

 

Closely, scrutinisingly, Bellatrix watched Hermione as she raised her wand. She watched as the girl's brow wrinkled in concentration, and eagerly she awaited the silent flames, The Death Eater could hardly process how furious she would be if this girl, who supposedly respected the strength of magic, failed to produce a wordless Incendio. Hermione was so eager to please the dark witch. And if she should fail? Well, it would probably be kinder to put the little thing out of her misery then and there. Suddenly and _silently_ a jet of white flames erupted from Hermione's wand and settled instantly in the fireplace. The logs within it were glad again to know warmth and crackled contently. 

 

 _Shame_ , she thought. "Good," she said. 

 

Bellatrix sauntered, walked, strode over to where Hermione was standing. Confidently she reached out and took hold of the neck of the girl's shirt and tugged her forward. Spasmodic breaths retched in and out of the young witch as she tried to comprehend what would come next. Though, she didn't resist the dark witch.

 

"I don't want to  _hear_ any spells from you ever again. Clear?" Her voice came coarse like sand. But the witch nodded just the same. "Now, show me something else." _  
_

 

Releasing her grip on the girl Bellatrix watched her close. Her wide, dark eyes taking in every movement she made. Cautiously she saw the girl lift her wand, raise it high, and aim it at her own chest. She cocked an eyebrow, a challenging look, and practically bared her teeth to the girl who dared raise a wand to Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione's brows furrowed, deep in concentration as the tip of her wand followed a very precise trajectory. 

 

The dark witch felt like she had been hit in the chest with something warm. Looking down at her clothes she saw their properties changed. The smooth, firm leather of her corset had now begun to drip and sag. She ran her fingers over, or rather  _through_ , the material and it stuck to her digits. As thick as molasses the black goop tangled her fingers together. Excitedly, she laughed. Again she tried to run her hands over her coverings but found the slime thicker this time. Thick black threads of rubber bound her arms and hands to her body, rendering her motionless. Stuck. Glued to herself.

 

"Good!" She shrieked, pleased with Hermione's progress.

 

Again the girl raised her wand, this time removing the Epoximise. Bellatrix ran her fingers over the now tactile garment. A complete shift in texture and function, very impressive. She laughed. Looking at the witch now through heavy lidded eyes. Bellatrix demanded in a tone that made Hermione blush,

 

"Stronger."

 

The girl averted her gaze. She bent at the knee and turned to face the now roaring fire. This time she pointed her wand at her own hand. Delicately motioning over it's surface, being sure to cover, if she might, it's entirety. Bellatrix watcher her with an eyebrow raised. Carefully, attentively observing. Hermione swallowed hard and leaned forward. She extended her hand through the air and slid it into the licking flames. Bellatrix gasped and clapped, excitedly applauding the control. Inwardly, she hoped the girl might set herself alight. The screams would be  _exceptional_. Still, it would be a waste of potential. A waste of potential talent. Of which this witch may have a sliver. Hermione held her hands in the flame for longer than was perhaps necessary. Perhaps she was amazed, at the power of her own magic. Bellatrix reached out, grasping for the back of the girl's shirt this time. Effortlessly she hoisted the witch to standing. They were now face to face. Confidently the dark witch took hold of the should-be charred limb and inspected it. Closely. Pressing it to her lips. Gathering it's scent. Searching for any trace of a poorly executed spell. There was none. Remarkable. Here the woman allowed her tongue it's freedom. She closed her eyes as the muscle traveled along the length of the witch's index finger, wanting to taste fire. But she found only the taste of flesh. Hermione's mouth hung open slightly at the display and her breath raked in. Suddenly Bellatrix's eyes bolted open to reveal the glassy crystal depths beneath. Their lips crashed together as the dark witch discarded the limb. The rhythm they set was impeccable. Quick. Between their warm joining flowed an intense adoration for powerful spells. Hermione held Bellatrix's body closer than she anticipated. Tighter than she thought. The witch plunged herself into the Mudblood, who shivered at the absolute exploration. It was the magic which drove Bellatrix crazy. 


	5. 2, DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES

She was almost tangled in the girl now. Almost wrapped up in her limbs. Close enough to see the thin sheen of sweat. Close enough to see her eyes frantically process the proximity. Almost. The smell of fear permeated her consciousness and Bellatrix was blind to all else. She could feel the warmth radiating from those bodies trailing behind them, coming to her. The Mudblood was slower than her friends. She was almost close enough to touch. To snatch up. To extract. 

 

"Harry!" She shrieked. Shriller than Bellatrix would have anticipated. The Boy Who Lived turned his body. Turned to face the falling where he extended his hand to her. Such unacceptable weakness in the face of fear. It would not do. Not at all.

 

In a final burst of speed Bellatrix lurched forward and tangled her body into the Mudblood's and stole her from the ground beneath the trios feet. She screamed bloody murder and thrashed as they flew through the air. With her prey captured Bellatrix soared high, the inky black cloud smothering them both. She could feel the girl's tiny body tense and stiffen in a show of what can only be described as Gryffindor resilience. The Mudblood wouldn't allow herself to be broken, not that easy. Frustrating, to say the least. Bellatrix had the witch's back pressed into her front. She allowed her talons to settle firmer than they needed to in the flesh. A sliver of bare skin was exposed in their aerial fray and the dark witch took no shame in lacerating the tissue there. It made the girl groan. And bleed. When her vital fluid was spilled the Mudblood screamed and fought harder against the ashen witch, her feet kicking against nothing in particular and her hands balling into fists. 

 

"Put me down!" It was a demand rather than a request. It made Bellatrix laugh. "Put me down!" Again she ordered. 

 

The unlikely pair hurtled through the air at such a speed that Bellatrix could hardly tell where they were going. Beneath them endless aisles washed past like waves and sudden flashes of spells below let her know the fighting hadn't stopped. The woman flexed her arms and held the girl closer, so she could be sure she was heard.

 

"Did you see the Crucios, Mudblood?" She said, with a peculiar tone of softness. "I know they hit. I could feel it." Here Hermione whimpered, her body had betrayed her and told all it's filthy secrets to Bellatrix, who adored the knowledge. 

 

"I'm disappointed in you, girl. For using such simple magic.  _Stupefy_?" She probed, "...you could do  _so_ much better." She practically spat the words into the girl's ear, who seemed to pull away from her hot mouth.

 

The Mudblood wriggled desperately, trying to pry herself free of the woman's animalistic grip on her. Bellatrix, not one to be beaten, held the girl firmer, like a snake constricting it's prey. Compressing the rib cage. Denying oxygen. It was like her fingers were made of steel. 

 

As if hurtling through the air at astonishing speeds while holding a captive so absolutely was effortless Bellatrix again chimed in, in her most patronising tone, "I had such high hopes for you, Mudblood." The girl's breath dragged in over her lips, "I had been told you were so talented. A prodigy." Here she squeezed the girl tighter still, until the splutter of breathlessness came on her lips. "But now that I've come all the way  _here_ to meet you, and you can only cast Stupefy to ward off the nasty Death Eaters, I see that you're just a little girl who can barely hold her wand."

 

Bellatrix knew exactly what to say to rub the girl the wrong way. Without missing a heartbeat, her pride provoked, the lion roared, Hermione replied between ragged breaths, "I can hold my wand."

 

But the Death Eater merely laughed in her ear, amused by the Mudblood's misplaced show of courage. 

 

"You may be able to hold it, deary, but you certainly can't use it."

 

Hermione let out a grunt of frustration, they were still hurtling through the air at ungodly speeds, high off the ground but the girl was desperate to show her mettle, and Bellatrix was determined to break her. 

 

"Expelliarmus." It came as a whisper from the girl, but it was enough to disarm the dark witch, blowing the two bodies apart. Almost miraculously their forms churned out of the smoky clouds and tumbled to the ground. Cackles of delight shot from the dark witch while Hermione landed on the ground with a thud and a groan.

 

"Expelliarmus! The best you can do?"

 

Bellatrix picked herself up off the ground and ran, like a dog from hell, towards the girl who coughed and spluttered at her thoracic freedom. Laughing all the way. Before Hermione could comprehend what to do next she found herself again soaring through the air with deceptively powerful arms compressing her lungs. She let out a noise of pure frustration which delighted Bellatrix to hear. If she was going to break the girl she wouldn't allow her to breathe. Both figuratively and literally.

 

"Your weak goody goody magic can't hold me back." Bellatrix laughed, "Spells should have teeth and claws. They should push you and test you as much as you push them. They should fight back. Not bend you with every whim. Weak spells beget weak wizards and weak wizards are worth nothing."

 

This time Bellatrix held the girl's arms close to her body, she would not have the use of her wand again. She hardly deserved it. The Mudblood struggled harder now, she'd had a taste of freedom and now she couldn't resist. But still the Death Eater held her, arresting her movements, as they travelled through the darkness as ash.

 

"I'm not frightened of you." Came the young witch's guttural response to the crushing limbs around her body.

 

Bellatrix had been challenged. Her strength and power questioned the pain she had inflicted was trivialised in a heartbeat by five little words. Anger flowed through her body like a molten metal and she hoped it would scold the Mudblood's skin. Her voice, then, came in staggered breaths, as a thick acrid string of words which made the young witch's pulse pound in her neck.

 

"Oh, but you ought to be. You see, that magic in your blood. Your filthy blood. Needs to come out. Because you don't deserve it. Mudblood, I'm going to dig whatever pathetic magic there is inside of you, out of you. And I don't care if a pound of your disgusting flesh comes with it." Were Hermione's eyes visible amidst the impenetrable smoke they would surely have been closed, shut tight with fear.

 

"I'm stronger than you can ever hope to be, Bellatrix." The young witch practically squeaked out.

 

Chaotic laughs escaped the Death Eater's mouth, she could hardly believe the gusto with which this girl, not even out of Hogwarts yet, spoke to her. She felt the girl tremble in her arms, recoiling in fear away from the maniac latched onto her. 

 

"Then show me just how  _strong_  you are!" Bellatrix's voice picked up in urgency, her body still coursing with rage at the Gryffindor. They were always so stubborn. Always needing to be the hero. She scoffed. 

 

In a last effort to mark the Mudblood, Bellatrix crushed the body tangled with hers. Her fingertips and nails digging into piercing flesh. Marking it. Bruising it. The girl groaned and cried out as Bellatrix still laughed, before dropping the girl, taking great pleasure in watching her drop to the ground where she clutched at her ankle. The Death Eater hoped that it was broken.

 

Elated as she was then, Bellatrix turned in search of another target, or anything that moved. She launched coloured jets into the blackness where she saw it churn. She heard the sound of smashing glass. She heard yet more Stupefies. She cringed.

 

"Down here!" She heard one of the male Death Eaters call. Apparently Hermione wasn't seriously wounded and the group had moved on into the Department of Mysteries.

 

Bellatrix again laughed maniacally and flew down into the depths with the other followers. It was like a feeding frenzy when they picked off the  _children_. Blindly, they each grabbed for a body which wasn't clad entirely in black. She felt a firm item beneath her fingers and tugged it away from the group. When all was still she found herself clutching Neville Longbottom, with her wand pointing at his thick, stupid neck. Why he voluntarily chose to wear a vest she would never know. Nevertheless she held him still. Across the room was the Mudblood. She looked less terrified now, practically relaxed. Greyback was an oaf. She made eye contact with the girl, who refused to look away. In trying to seem brave she was putting herself to death. She was agreeing, Bellatrix took it, to be tested on whether she deserved to possess magic. Excellent. At the thought of breaking the girl adrenaline surged through the woman's body. Her heart howled like a caged creature beneath her ribs, ' _kill, kill, kill,'_ Her senses heightened and she could practically smell the blood coming off the girl's grazed and pierced skin. It was as if her whole body was singing out in agreement. As if all the magic in her bones, in her fluids, in her skin, wanted the Mudblood destroyed. 

 

Her thoughts and her focus on the witch was interrupted, then, by sandy white clouds pouring into the oddly high space. They tumbled down fast towards the Death Eaters and their prey, Bellatrix freely relinquished her grip on the Longbottom, she was glad to be rid of him and his sticky flesh. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Bellatrix apparated over to where Hermione stood, paralysed and without Greyback in sight. Her gaze was up, up, up, at the aerial battles taking place. The exceptional spectacle of it. When she saw Bellatrix, however, her form dropped. Her jaw dropped. Her wand, practically, dropped too. She stumbled backwards, the dirt coating her shoes. Bellatrix stepped slowly, carefully. One foot in front of the other. Stalking her prey. 

 

"Expelliarmus!"

 

Effortlessly, Bellatrix swatted away the spell as if it were a fly, with a quick wave of her hand. Still she edged closer, a look of deceptive nonchalance on her face.

 

" _Stupefy_." Bellatrix cast, in a mocking tone. She hardly meant the spell, but it knocked the girl off her feet. 

 

"Expelliarmus!" Hermione tried again, anything to buy her time. Even if it was time enough only to stand.

 

And again Bellatrix deflected the spell, laughing with disbelief that she would be dumb enough to try it twice.

 

"What kind of witch are you!" Bellatrix was close enough to see the hurt in Hermione's eyes now. And she took great pleasure in that.

 

The girl, the Mudblood, Hermione, stood up and flung her wand at the woman, who deflected the magic easily. They begun, then, to fire spells back and forth. Bellatrix was in her element here, but the girl could hardly endure the physical strain on her body and her conviction began to waver. Seeing her prey weak, weaker than before, the dark witch threw a jet of hot red sparks towards her.

 

"Crucio!"

 

A cry of effort came from the girl's lips as she deflected the spell and a cry of disbelief came from Bellatrix's. She was, it would seem, not an entirely useless witch. Again she cast the spell, again the hot redness slithered from the tip of her wand, but this time Hermione couldn't block it. Her body was too weak. She screamed for all the pain inside of her, for all the pain scouring through her virgin tissue, for her first Cruciatus. She writhed on the floor, the silt covering her clothes. The veins of her neck bulged and her face went a deep shade of red. Precious. Bellatrix sighed through satisfaction when she saw the curse hit. But when it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. The gaping hollow within her opened up and it demanded to be filled with the screams of the Mudblood. It was all she could do but oblige. 

 

"Who's stronger now, 'ey?" Bellatrix cooed at her, with a smug sort of grin on her face.

 

Again she mustered the bright red beast and it wracked through the girl's body, for a moment at first it merely tangled with her limbs. She shook. She quivered. The tears streamed down her face. Amidst the fighting no one seemed to notice the former inmate of Azkaban quietly torturing a piece of the golden trio. Bellatrix stooped, closer to the girl now, into the silt. She looked over the defenceless creature and she began to speak lowly to the whimpering mass of witch.

 

"This, Mudblood, is what real magic feels like. Powerful. Crippling. Magnificent. The spells should come from within you. From inside your bones, your blood. As soon as it leaves your wand it should form an image of yourself. You must commit to it entirely, fully and irrevocably - and therein lies the power." Now Hermione was looking right into Bellatrix's eyes, through her own tear filled ones. Bellatrix watched the girl process what she said, and watched her find truth in it. It was clear she appreciated the strength of magic, but had not thought of it like this before.

 

"Expelliarmus!" Came from behind her, knocking her sideways as her wand dropped into the silt.

 

Bellatrix growled in anger, someone had come to  _rescue_ the Mudblood. She scooped up her weapon and parted from the witch in a smoky cloud, but she was not finished with her prey just yet. 


	6. 6, FOREST

The night forced itself into her body. The dampness. The scent. It was sublime. Others adored the sunshine, they raved about the blue skies. Sometimes she feared she might never hear the end of it. When the fools went to bed, tired from raving about the sun all day, was when Bellatrix flourished. There was a stillness in the night that made her wild. And she loved it. She was out in the middle of some godforsaken forest, away from the distinct glow of civilisation, in hunt of Hermione. Only the moon shone on her then, as its watery beams spluttered down through the coverage of the trees. There was no sign of the  _Golden Trio_ out here. The witch had them hidden well. Bellatrix paused, stopping he breathing and halting her heart. She could sense the girl, she was close. The dark witch listened carefully, breathed in deeply. Searching the night air for slivers of Hermione. Her scent. Her breath. The traces of words uttered, and of breaths expelled. Yes, she was close now. Silently Bellatrix stalked through the forest, each step took painful consideration to land on the fetid earth without making a sound. Of course, she could have case a silencing charm on herself, but where's the fun in that? Slowly she came over a hill and not twenty feet from her stood her prey. Hermione stood out against the darkness and rough of the trees and in her hand she clutched her wand. For a moment the dark witch simply observed. Watched. Plotted. Picking out the perfect moment to strike. There were some powerful concealment charms at work in this forest. They made the skin of Bellatrix's neck twinge and prickle. Here, a smile spread across her lips.  _Good girl._ She watched as the witch moved between the trees. Her own thundering pulse resonating through her entire body - it was the thrill  of the chase. She could practically smell the sweet flesh. The girl folded her arms across her chest looked down at her feet. Her rib cage tensed with fatigue as she was taken by a yawn and Bellatrix knew it was time to strike.

 

Launching herself into ash the dark witch flew through the air. Dodging trees and keeping close to the ground. The night air forced itself into her lungs as she forced herself through it. In a split ashen second Bellatrix had scooped up the witch who clung to her like mud. For her life. She could feel the girl aspirating against her neck. Breathing in her smoky vapour. This time their bodies were pressed together at the front. Each with limbs like vices. She felt, too, an unexpected warmth at her throat as Hermione's tongue and lips slid over the flesh there. Inwardly Bellatrix smirked, in future this girl had better be sure who was carrying her off before she started licking them. Still, the gesture didn't go unnoticed and the dark witch exhaled a noise of pure satisfaction and she was  _delighted_ when the girl began using her teeth. 

 

Faster than she could have possibly anticipated Bellatrix found herself pressing the young witch up against a tree, with her whole body. Pushing the girl absolutely into her. There were hands at her back and still, a student of Gryffindor latched onto her throat. 

 

"Everyone is looking for you." She had meant it to come out much more forcefully, but in her current state of relation the words tumbled out as slightly more than a whisper. "Everyone wants you dead." Here she wrapped her slender fingers around the back of the girl's neck and pulled her tighter still. If she could have had the witch bite through her carotid and live, she would have. 

 

"I know." Hermione managed to answer. 

 

Bellatrix laughed. It was as if in the face of persistent and certain death the girl had lost all of her inhibitions. Intoxicated, perhaps, on the threat of personal destruction.

 

"Spending all your time with Potter and Weasel, how is it?" She smirked.

 

"I can't bare it. I want to be near you." The hot, auditory expulsions sent shivers through the woman's body. Their connection through magic was superb. 

 

"Is that so?" She was exceptionally pleased with herself. 

 

Hermione made a noise of agreement, barely forming words now. The entirety of her attention was directed at the tender spot of skin the dark witch had given her. Bellatrix removed a hand from behind the witch's neck and slid it down her side, until it met the edge of her shirt, where it met her hip. Smoothly. Confidently. Bellatrix pushed her hand under the garment and clawed she soft flesh she found there. She could feel her nails bow slightly at the enormous pressure she was exerting into them, and into the flesh of Hermione, who groaned and clung to the witch.

 

"And how is your magic?"

 

"Stronger." The girl barely managed to form the word while her lips were pressed against the Death Eater's flesh. Bellatrix angled her skull, then, lowering her lips to brush and graze against Hermione's ear as she spoke. The warm trails of language gently probed and washed over the witch's skin. 

 

"Show me." Low came the words that demanded spectacle.

 

In a moment of pure ecstasy Hermione's eyes lulled back in her head. The whites of her utmost interior shone in the moonlight as Bellatrix's tongue gently clipped the ridges of her ear. The dark witch could feel the hands of the girl at her back flex as those fingers desperately latched deeper into her skin. She felt one of the limbs move, and it trailed down the front of her. Bellatrix felt the sinewy digits clutch at the crest of her hip before moving, with familiarity, to her own wand. 

 

Around their feet, churning like a river of light, a luminescent otter swirled. It's bluish hue bathing the two witches in a white light. Bellatrix's skin was practically glowing. And how could she not be impressed with a wordless Patronus circling at their feet, climbing on unseen platforms through the air. It had been years since she'd seen one last. She would have murdered someone for one of those magnificent creatures in Azkaban. Hermione's hand, meanwhile, returned to it's position, clutching at the back of the woman's neck. 

 

"More." Passion grew in Bellatrix's voice, through Hermione's shut eyes it sounded like she was on the verge. The woman was immensely excited by power, and even more excited by powerful magic.

 

Again the girl's arm drifted downward, toward the wand in her pocket. Silently, and from all directions, ropes like limbs began to slither around Bellatrix's charcoal body. A noise of surprise escaped her as her trunk was brought mercilessly close by the tethers. As if they were controlled by the young witch the coarse limbs caressed and bound to flesh as the brilliant white light from Hermione's Patronus began to wain and fade. Not one to miss an opportunity to heckle and stir Bellatrix suddenly chimed out with, 

 

"Well he wasn't around for long was he!"

 

She felt the girl at her neck sigh and once again reach for her wand. A split second later the woman found herself unable to speak, as if her throat was filled with cotton and syrup. Trapping any words that might ache for freedom. Bellatrix should have been furious, then, she should have raged, but with the Gryffindor looking over her lips, now, she could hardly do just that. Deeply they kissed, as if each shift of lip against lip might provide them both with oxygen to breathe. As if their lives depended on it. Instead, it was the kiss that should have gotten them killed. Executed. Bellatrix dragged her hands up between the thin film of clothing and the thick sheen of Hermione's skin until she was practically wielding the girl's shoulder blades. Here, she dug her nails into the flesh as she felt, for a moment, as if she was about to flay the witch's back open. The strong muscles beneath her hands twitched with agony but, from the hosts mouth, came slippages of satisfaction. 

* * *

A deep rush of air filled her lungs as Hermione withdrew from the Penseive. A tell tale blush washing over her face. She left her heart beating at an incredible rate, and she smile. As if by no effort at all the silken, luminescent otter again swum at her feet, just as it had done that night in the darkness. A wordless  _and_ wandless Patronus was no easy feat, Bellatrix would be proud. She stooped, slowly, and sat down on the cool floor. Watching as the bright creature did summersaults through the meek air. Again she smiled. It was in watching the animal swim about that she felt connected to the witch, this ageless creature looked just as it had that night, and it would never change. Here, she sighed, it would never change. But so must else already had.

 

The Patronus swooped and curled, floating easily through the rack of vials, who's liquid began glowing too, as if singing in harmony with the creature in a chorus directed by wants and melodic phrases. It was beautiful. 

 

 

 


	7. 9, NARCISSA'S HOUSE

It was as if their bodies were joined. Connected. Held together by the shimmering metal. It was as if the razor thin edge of Bellatrix's most treasured dagger kept them both from spinning off into the universe. Gravity kept them grounded - and the blade kept the Mudblood still. 

 

She kept Hermiome as motionless as possible. Even the rhythmic pulse of her heart seemed too much. It was an enormous task, not to slice open the girl's sun kissed flesh. Nobody wanted damaged goods, and she was a bargaining tool after all. Between their bodies lurked an enormous warmth, transmitted by their clothing. An unseen warmth. Hidden. And shy. The heat slipped off her like the blood slipped from her arm, pooling on the floor. Bellatrix should have liked to scoop it up and stuff it down and hide it away - to hate it then, or to love it later. She felt how the witch in her grasp slumped against her. She felt the familiar weight of the flesh and bone. The heavy body. Her fingers spread across the flat abdomen with as much reach as she could draw from the digits. The tips of her nails pressed into the soft flesh, covered with soft fabrics. Beneath this, she could feel the slow intake of breath. Deeply, and calmly Hermione breathed in, while she allowed her weight to press against the Death Eater. Were Weasel and Potter any closer they would no doubt see how  _not_ scared and  _not_ anxious their friend was. Complacency was dangerous. In any situation. Hermione's hubris, Bellatrix decided, needed urgent attention. Slowly, as if dictated by a strict system of measurement, Bellatrix allowed the thin blade of metal to drag across the pale flesh it had so statically kissed in the past. A thin ribbon of crimson materialised and wept with with an excess of fluid. A pair of droplets formed, and slithered hastily down the pale body. Eagerly they were drunk by the soft, warm fabric of Hermione's clothes, where in time they would turn a rusted brown. A quiet whimper, meant only for Bellatrix's ears, crept from the girl's mouth. Cruel lips, which were pressed against a youthful ear, parted for a low, animalistic noise of pleasure to ripple out. The girl was afraid. Good. Though somehow she had gained mobility, her arm flew free of it's jet black prison. Bellatrix wrenched the body in her arms, against her chest, pulling it closer to her. Constricting like a snake. A splutter of breathlessness came from Hermione and Bellatrix knew she had her stuck. 

 

It was so _refreshing_ after all this time to have Hermione under complete control. And in front of her little friends, too. Bellatrix felt the girl's weight shift, relying even more on the dark witch to keep her vertical. The Mudblood was truly under her mercy. There was nothing more exciting to Bellatrix than  _her mercy_. If indeed it was her mercy, then there would be none. Her victims cries unanswered, pleas unfulfilled - smothered with an insurmountable abundance of pain. Hermione had no choice but to obey, to wince, to grasp desperately at the arm constricting her abdomen. It was all so..  _good_. It felt as if, through attributing her exterior with the strength and emotional responsiveness of stone, Bellatrix's core by contrast was turned into a gilded heat. She felt it trickle through her body while the young girl in her arms squirmed - or at least she tried to. Now she felt the young witch's head turn to the side, so her the soft skin of her cheek pressed against her jaw. It was like the moment before a kiss. Well, a kiss, at least, which didn't involve Bellatrix Lestrange. Spasmodically the girl breathed, desperate for the respiratory freedom she had been granted only moments before. Her breathlessness might, too, be in part because of the proximity of the dark witch's mouth to her own. Adrenaline would course through her body as she tried desperately not to kiss the Death Eater in front of her worried, and oblivious, friends. 

 

When the time came - that  _stupid_ elf - Bellatrix pushed Hermione harder than she needed. Her lithe body tumbled gracelessly across the black floor, her elbows and knees making hollow noises against the hard wood. Bolts of frustration shot through her as she watched the chandelier come down. She had hoped to pin Hermione down and keep her at the Manor. But instead she was forced to watch as she apparated away, crying at her own betrayal. Though, who could expect loyalty from a Mudblood?

 

When the churning mass of limbs and metal vanished a deafening silence came over the house. It was as if the walls were stuffed to bursting with cotton, muffling and canceling all sound. In this deathly silence sound had known it's own demise. Bellatrix was pleased with herself, she hadn't heard the distinct rattle of metal against wood and she knew that the elf was dead. t made her smile. The noiseless cotton dissolved. Slowly, at first. Behind her Bellatrix heard Narcissa and Lucius panting. The ragged draws of breath from Lucius let her know that he was frightened. The Dark Lord would have someone's head for letting Potter escape. The elf did belong to Lucius, after all. She turned to face him, that platinum blond man who had married her sister and gave her a rotten son. He was weak. And ghastly. Like his father. Here, Bellatrix snorted. Even though the Malfoy blood line was pure, it was nothing to be proud of. It begat cowards and weaklings. Disrespectful wizards who thought they knew everything about magic. She had seen how Draco held himself in duels and it was pitiful. Spells fell from his wand, truly fell. They had no drive or passion. They simply _were_. The Black family was shamed by this child. Shamed once, and shamed again.

 

Her stomach began to churn. It was as if her lungs were being forced downward against her stomach. It was a sickly feeling which made her grimace. The feeling quickly spread. Her arms. Her legs. Her throat, too. Her whole body seemed to quiver and groan. Her heart pounded in her chest, it greedily sucked enormous quantities of blood into itself. Her limbs were starved of all that was precious as her head felt like it was lifting off her body. If ever she was coated in a freezing, liquid metal, this is what it should feel like. She was surrounded. Sweating. Cold. She needed to fly free from these walls. This room. This  _house._ Still Bellatrix's heart held all her blood to itself. By now her ears were filled with a merciless ringing and her feet had begun to waver beneath her. She had been foolish enough to lose her wand and now she would suffer for it. Narcissa looked at her sister with wide, worried eyes. Lucius looked at the floor in self pity. Suddenly her heart relinquished its hold of blood and Bellatrix's body was flushed with warmth and oxygen. The ringing in her ears vanished. Her legs pounded the floor beneath her as she stormed towards the exit. Like an animal she screamed: 

 

"Fools!" 

 

Like a thunder cloud she strode through the Manor. She growled. She screamed. Were the house not stripped bare Bellatrix would have broken anything in sight. It was a shame that everyone knew already to keep out of her way. She ascended the stairs like rising smoke, her footfall heard throughout the house. Without her wand, and with the Mudblood gone, Bellatrix had no means of exerting her frustrations. So instead she pounded the stairs, the floor. She could feel her face flushed with rage while her heart tried to break free of its bony prison. When she was close to her lair, her room, she screamed a final warning down the stairs.

 

"I don't want to be disturbed!"

 

As hard as her arms might let her Bellatrix slammed the heavy oak door. It swung quickly on its hinges before colliding with its frame. The sharp, solid, noise echoed throughout the now silent and frightened house. She turned, then, from the closed door to face the other side of the room. Her eyes skittered and fluttered across every edge and corner. Across every plane of colour. She couldn't force them to focus and still. The room felt as if it was spinning now, with the dark witch at its center. She could hear the racing pulse in her head pound like the thunder of unicorns. She would surely have their blood too. Muffled white light flooded in at her from the slivers of window that weren't covered, bathing her milky skin in light. The walls seemed much closer now - now that she wanted to be rid of them. The room wrapped around her quietly, only shifting when her back was turned.

 

A sudden, unexpected, sensation came bubbling up from her core. Laughter. Pure laughter. As the result of nothing and the consequence of no action. Muscles in her face twitched and tugged at the corners of her mouth, drawing a genuine smile from the Death Eater. The laughter shut out all other noise - her pounding heart settled and the ringing in her ears faded. She threw her head back, her black hair dangling down over her shoulders. Her fingers drifted down towards where her wand might usually be. Though, this time, it wasn't there. The laughter faded, though her smile didn't. Bellatrix had forgotten.  _Forgotten_. Here, she scoffed at her own folly and stupidity - for forgetting as something as important as her own wand. 

 

She thought of her wand, then. Of where it might be. Of who's grasp it might be in. Potter may have it now. He may keep it next to him while he sleeps.  He may not notice it gone, for say, an hour or two. Hermione, Mudblood, might sneak over to where  _he_ kept it. Might sneak over and take it from him. Take it out into the night and cast spells with it. Feel its power. Feel it obey her. Or would she obey it? It was an extension of the dark witch. Hermione would obey it. The girl could use it and think of all the lives that were notched into its hilt. The Gryffindor would never have known such a feeling. The thought of Hermione, her prodigy, wielding her wand sent jolts of pleasure though Bellatrix. Her pulse rose again and anxious fingers danced their pads against soft, dark lips. Her breath quickened and a burning hollow sensation made itself known in her chest. Bellatrix rubbed her palm, the tips of her fingers, her nails, over her sternum. The flesh beneath her hand reddened with friction as the pain increased still. Like an acidic hollow it expanded, exponentially. She feared at any moment it might eat through her skin and kill her. She fell to her knees, still clutching at her chest. Coughing. Wheezing. Scratching at her throat. Crawling slowly. Agonising. Closer. She lifted her hand, her arm, from the wooden floor. Reaching up for a vessel. With great effort she wrapped her fingers around its glassy handle. Enough of a grip now to lift it. Bellatrix pulled the jug to her lips and took long, parched swallows of the deep crimson liquid. It spilled from her mouth and dripped onto the floor, but Bellatrix needed more. She felt it flow into her, and cover the acid. She felt it flow into her and dislodge the burn. The dark witch rose from the floor, resurrected by the wine. She stood motionless for a time. Taking sips of the rescuing fluid. It was not the first time this drink had been her saviour. Her erratic body allowed her no rest. The ark witch tried to calm her breathing, but still her heart raced. Like an animal she roared. For a split second the room was bathed in a beautiful refracted like as the vessel and its contents hurtled through the air. Only a moment later a wall was splattered with wine and fragments of broken glass. She was insatiable without her wand. She was erratic suddenly, with a heart for Hermione. 


	8. 3, KNOCKTURN ALLEY

The sun was slipping so quickly out of the sky that Bellatrix wondered whether it would ever return. If it were to vanish the air would be a constant twilight, or midnight. Never would the light rise through the inky clutches of the horizon, it would suffocate beneath the ground, surrounded by mud. Swallowed by dirt. Dragged into the shadowed crevasses where the tramps and Death Eaters, like herself, might dwell. Fetid smells bubbled up to her. There was a weight to them, these smells, which held them close to the ground, to the earth, like an invisible skin. She could feel the thick scent tug at her legs and her dress as she stalked through the twilight alley. Just as quickly as the sun fell from the sky the populous of Knockturn Alley fell too. With Voldemort back nowhere was safe. Nobody with half a brain wandered the alleyways while the sun was setting, it was completely barren of inhabitants by nightfall. Those who were game to come here in the first place weren't game enough to stay after dark. Usually. 

 

Knockturn Alley had a perpetual smell of wet animals. A smell she had gained a familiarity with in Azkaban. To her, now, there was little difference between a wet dog and a broken wizard begging for death. It was as if all the scum in the wizarding world trickled down through Hogwarts and the Ministry, especially the Ministry, to end up pooling and rotting in this cesspit. Though, in a lawless cesspit like this, she could do as she pleased. She felt, as she strode confidently down an ever dimming alley, the heels of her boots dig into the ground. It was as if, as she walked, she burst bubbles of scent beneath the cobbles, and new flavours of stench rose up to her and tangled with her hair. 

 

"Spare a sickle, miss?"

 

 _A sickle_. 

 

"A sickle?" She spat at the tramp, feeling the word slice its way out of her mouth.

 

"Come on, love, it's only a sickle."

 

 _Love_. It was as if this tramp, this down and outer, was begging her to kill him.

 

"Well piss off then, too good to give a bloke a sickle!"

 

That was it. As a hooded figure she didn't demand the respect that Bellatrix Lestrange, infamous sadist and murderer, ought to get. She was more than a volatile substance and this filthy tramp has asked the wrong witch for a sickle. Yes, today he would get burned. Though, she mustn't draw attention to herself. If she were to Crucio this...  _wizard_ then she'd probably end up killing someone. And while that sounded very attractive in face of this begging tramp, she decided against it. However, he wouldn't go unpunished. As quick as the beggar could turn to spit from his fetid mouth Bellatrix summoned a great mass of rope from her wand. Like a tremendous striking serpent it launched itself at the man and wrapped its thick body around his, crushing the life out of him. His cheeks began to pale and pieces of words were spluttered out at her.

 

"Pl-.. p..." He said, clutching desperately at the inanimate beast.

 

"What's that,  _dear_ , you want a sickle?

 

Bellatrix reached into a small purse she kept inside her cloak and drew a single silver coin from it. Against the muddied, darkening alley way this sickle shone like a star. She twirled it around her sinewy fingers as she watched the life trickle out of the man. She held the coin between her fingers for a moment, before casually leaning down and slipping the coin into the man's mouth. She could hear the little breath left in him rush around the hunk of metal and finally she withdrew her serpent. Immediately the tramp fell forward on his filthy hands and dropped Bellatrix's sickle into the gutter. He coughed as tendrils of spit dripped off his lips.

 

"There's your sickle,  _love."_

 

Bellatrix turned her head away from the tramp at the exact right moment. A smirk immediately spread across her face as she thanked Merlin she'd looked up at that precise second. She had seen, contrary to her better reasoning, a familiar shade of gold stalking its way down the alley. Though, she had her face obscured, a scarf wrapped around her neck, and her gaze directed at the cobbles, Bellatrix would recognise that deranged confidence anywhere. She had never expected her trip to Knockturn Alley to turn out quite so exciting. Bellatrix was intrigued, what was the ever valiant Gryffindor doing in a place like this, at a time like this? She fell tight to the wall, not minding the coughing tramp who had adopted fetal position, clutching his neck, and his new shiny sickle. She narrowed her eyes at the witch, and watched her walk calmly past all sorts of  _nasty_ witches and wizards. It was almost tempting to call her out then and there as a member of the Golden Trio, just to watch the chaos. Not that she could stand to have someone  _else_ destroy the girl. She slid around the corner and began to stalk the girl. She had to know what the Mudblood was going here. She was incorrigible in the face of danger. And Knockturn Alley at night meant nothing but that. Though, if she was sure enough of herself to come here alone she must have some kind of considerable power. Silently Bellatrix trailed the auburn hair bobbing gently up and down through the sullen crowd. Were the girl drowning it wouldn't look much different, her light and colour being swallowed up by masses of blackened waves.  _Books, books, always books._ Bellatrix could see now that Mudblood was clutching a small mass of volumes. Here she snorted, the dark witch was beginning to wonder if the girl was all theory and no practice. 

 

She was completely silent. Though still entirely present. The quickly sinking sun dragged and stretched her shadow out across the cobbles. Bellatrix saw her shadow twist and morph with the changing light and watched the sleek claws of her hand grow and reach for the girl. Even as a shadow she was a terrifyingly magnificent beast. Up ahead Hermione had quickened her pace, no doubt become aware of the wraith-like shadow trailing her every move. The dark witch slipped back into the shadows, who embraced her readily. She was almost indistinguishable from the darkening architecture, save for the small patch of her porcelain cheek that was visible under her hood. She kept her eyes pinned to the girl, whose fingers began edging their way toward her waist line. Bellatrix could sense she was about to apparate away from the Alley. She was only a short distance behind the witch, and decided to make her move. She felt her limbs kick into action and twitch with adrenaline. She leapt out from the shadows, breaking their silken hold of her, and launched herself at the girl. 

 

It was a blur of hard limbs and soft fabric, but Bellatrix was sure she'd captured the girl. She felt the skin and bone beneath her fingers stretch as she pulled on the limb with all her weight and strength, reeling her victim into a side alley, reeling her victim into her web. When the motion stopped Bellatrix found herself pressing Hermione into a fetid wall, so that she might bond with it, and be absorbed into it. She held the girl's wrists above her head, securely. She was stuck in the web now. 

 

Hoarsely, but in a whisper Bellatrix uttered, "Make no noise and you just might live."

 

At this proximity she could see exactly how scared the young witch was. She waited and watched 

She waited and watched as the girl heeded to the warning. Knockturn Alley was a dangerous place, and the Mudblood knew it. Screaming for help here wouldn't so much attract the aide of witches and wizards, but wand wielding animals and beasts lusting for spilled blood. And should they catch word of her blood status, well, Bellatrix just might not be able to fend them off. Pity. The Mudblood's arms began to struggle against the dark witch, in desperate want of her wand. Though, she knew she was powerless. Bellatrix's limbs were like ropes of steel. Again the two witches struggled against each other. Skin dragged across skin, colouring the flesh a telltale scarlet. The girl began grunting with effort, her stamina was waning against the savage Death Eater. Bellatrix managed to restrain the witch with her arms pressed awkwardly across her front, her own arms were cutting off her breath.

"It's not in your best interest to squirm and squeak, Mudblood." Bellatrix leaned in close and whispered harshly, she wanted to control the girl, but didn't want any witch or wizard to hear the 'M' word. "Not even your beloved Expelliarmus will save you here - so hush."

A wash of insanity made itself known as the Death Eater attempted to soothe her prisoner, it wasn't aggressive, but the insanity was just as frightening. The quickly fading, strangled sun, sank below the bleeding horizon. The edges of shadows became foggy, veiled in ashen twilight, and all colour ceased. All colour, that is, except for the incarnadine wetness that lurked in Hermione's gasping mouth. The girl was at last stilled. Her breath came more evenly now, but the expression she adopted here betrayed her real state of calm. Hate. It made Bellatrix laugh. Hatred ought not to lurk in the faces of young Mudbloods, and less importantly, young girls.

Bellatrix held her steady, witch firm fingers and asked, "Have you thought about what I said at the Ministry, girl? Hmm? Have you thought about real magic?"

The Mudblood spoke quickly, as if she were nervous, whispering at the same volume as the Death Eater. As if in harmony with the veils of the quickly approaching night. "What you do isn't real magic. It's violence. It's destruction. I don't believe anything that comes from within you, as you say  _real_  magic should, I don't believe its only purpose should be, or even could be, destruction. It just isn't natural."

"Spoken like a true Gryffindor, how plain and predictable." Bellatrix was unaffected by the girl's sudden eloquence. In fact, her voice adopted a stronger air of frankness. "Violence is in our nature - as much as I hate to put myself in the same category as you - at the core we're all animals. You of all people should understand that, Mudblood." The whispered words were spilling out of her like dragon's breath, burning her prey.

"We are not all animals. Some of us are compassionate, we love, we-" Here she was cut off by a pressure at her chest. She had been forgetting who she was arguing with. Bellatrix had heard the confidence build in the girl and couldn't tolerate the disgusting display any longer. She looked the witch in the eyes, as if trying to dissect her with a look. It was the first time she'd had a conversation with someone about magic, real magic, in a long time. She was caught off guard and covered it with venom.

"Then why, oh why, do they teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at smelly old Hogwarts?"

Hermione dragged a single breath into her lungs, enough to reply to the woman, she was out of breath, but still insufferably confident. "Because I said not all of us are animals."

Bellatrix's eyes widened with disbelief. Such insolence. Such arrogance! Bellatrix Lestrange, right hand to Voldemort, wasn't spoken to like this by anyone. Especially not a Mudblood. As quickly as the lash of her tongue the Death Eater drew her wand and showed the girl how stupid she had been. She pressed the implement into Hermione's skull, driving the girl's head back into the alley wall. "If I were an animal I would kill you and eat your heart before your eyes had even glazed over. I would rip open your gut and spill your blood. But then I suppose I am an animal." Here, Bellatrix grinned a wide grin. Challenging the girl to move.

Hermione closed her eyes as tight as she could, the flesh around her eyes and nose bunching with effort, expecting the worst. Quietly Bellatrix giggled, pleased by the display of submissiveness. Perhaps she had finally learned her place. She removed her wand from the witch's skull and let a claw trail down her cheek. Forcefully she took hold of the skull before her with great interest. Hermione still had her eyes firmly closed while Bellatrix looked her over like a fine piece of craftsmanship on a foreign mantle. The dark witch looked over the girl. Observing her freckles, the colour of her hair. Her mood shifted with the tick of the clock and now Bellatrix spoke with no anger, only a childish curiosity.

"You are a strange beast, but you do respect power."

Without missing a beat, but still with her eyes closed through fear, not willing to look the woman in the face, Hermione retorted, "I respect intelligence." It was as if she were speaking her last words to the world, and thought she should make them something special, for her epitaph.  _Hermione Granger, 'I respect intelligence.'_  Bellatrix snorted.

"Are you sure?" The dark witch probed.

"Y-yes." It was like someone had reached down into her, attached a chain to the deepest part of her and pulled and pulled until the tiny, stumbled word was wretched out.

Bellatrix stood for a moment, watching the girl in front of her. Considering what to do with the situation. She could just as easily kill the witch and leave her to rot in the fetid gutter, or she could find out what sort of magic this girl was capable of. Calmly, she spoke,

"Then show me something impressive. Something visceral. Something dripping with sweat. Something pungent and organic. Do it now, and I will teach you spells that will make your Hogwarts education look like child's play."

"I'm not stupid, Bellatrix."

"I know you aren't, Mudblood. Now do it." It was through gritted teeth she spoke. Challenging the girl to refuse her. Testing the witch's mettle and conviction. If she didn't do it, Bellatrix had decided to kill her. She was sure the girl had no idea of the generosity she was being offered. Here she stepped back a little, allowing the girl room to cast, allowing her access to her wand. She looked Hermione in the eyes to let her know that death waited for her if she tried to escape.

Bellatrix watched closely as the girl readied herself, she watched the flexing fingers and the muscle twitching in her jaw. She breathed slowly for a moment before casting. Tearing through the monochrome alleyway like a shard of glass came Hermione's Lumos Solem out of the sky. For a brief moment all things were bathed in a glorious golden light, gilded and luminous. Colours stepped out from their hiding places and Bellatrix was blinded by its brilliance. It reminded her of the lightning over Azkaban. She could feel the warmth pervading her skin and entering her. It was a simple spell, but it had been executed perfectly. The Mudblood must have been starving and longing for the sunlight. Hoping to be protected from the vaporous Death Eater by its intensity. She willed the spell to be act as a Patronus against the dark witch. Bellatrix felt the heart in her chest beat faster and harder, sending blood to the surface of her skin so it might absorb the magic cascading down around her. She was excited by magic like this. Though it was a simple spell, she hadn't ever seen someone summon a light brighter than the sun itself.

When the spell was broken Bellatrix again stepped toward Hermione, her browed furrowed with confusion. She didn't understand how such powerful magic had come to rest in a vessel like this. Her pupils dilated and her eyes widened. Her breath was so shallow and rapid now that she began to feel dizzy. She wrapped her fingers around the girl's neck and squeezed, watching her eyes roll back in her head. Hermione too began to pant, and Bellatrix leaned in closer to her,

"Meet me in five days, at The Three Broomsticks. The last room on the left."


	9. 5, WEASEL'S HOUSE

The Pensieve rose out of the floor like a figure standing over her. All day she had been remembering, recalling. Reliving. Seeing for the first time - herself through Bellatrix's eyes. All day she had been surrounded and immersed in the presence of the woman. The witch. The sadist who she absolutely shouldn't have gotten involved with but, despite her better judgement, had anyway. She felt lonesome. Missing the presence she'd known so strongly before. As she sat on the cold floor in this corner of the Ministry she allowed her scheming eyes to fondle the vials, and the Pensieve. An idea touched her then of filling the Pensieve with all the vials of memories, with all of the pieces of Bellatrix she had left, and pushing the glowing fluid onto herself, in hopes of reconstituting and reviving the dark witch. Surely, Hermione thought then, that her memories and her body would be enough to bring her back?

She felt a hollow feeling open at her back. She felt it spread to her neck, where it consumed her solidity. She knew she couldn't stop here. She mustn't. Hermione knew how it all had to end, but in reliving those moments they were like new. Just as fresh as they had been in her own head, before she'd turned them to mud with endless recalling. If she did stop here, and deny the remaining vials their freedom… here she felt the world shake beneath her feet, as if daring her to try. The world,  _her_  world, would collapse, undoubtedly. It would collapse in on itself, with her at its centre. Bellatrix had taught her so much, and now that knowledge formed the great pillars which held her world up. No, she had to know the vials. To love them. She had to absorb them. Hermione longed for the presence of the dark witch. Gingerly she lifted a vial from the rack and let her gaze settle in the liquid within. What if she were to drink this? Drink deep in these memories, spilled from Bellatrix's cup? No. This would not do either. Hermione could not know the vials properly, were she to ingest them. But no doubt the sensation of the thing would be exceptional. Though, these vessels weren't inscribed with  _drink me_ , instead they were a catalogued sequence of events, meant for experience, not consumption.

Carefully she placed the tempting, shimmering vial back in its carved hole, and reached for another. Delicately, as if the slightest of knocks would shatter its glassy body, Hermione lifted the small lid. She felt the parchment label under her fingers rustle while she raised it to her nose. Slowly she breathed in. Holding the first breath within herself for as long as possible. Behind her eyes flashes of moments, of touches, presented themselves to her as Bellatrix's vapour fed her systems. Her stomach began to seize and her cheeks flushed. Hermione desperately tried to fight her body, wanting to hold her breath forever. Keeping Bellatrix safely within her. Her body failed her as black dots danced in her vision. While she exhaled a noise of pain escaped her. She was sorry to see it go. Again she breathed in deeply over the vial, inhaling the scents that bubbled off it. It smelled of ashes, and fire. Her heart began to pound in her chest, thundering beneath against her sternum, sending tremors through her body. Slowly, familiar scents stepped out to her. The smell of Bellatrix's skin, her hair, her clothes, even her sweat. It all came pouring out of this vial and invaded Hermione's body. If she closed her eyes, which she had done long ago, Bellatrix, the dark witch she shouldn't have loved, could be standing over her. Here with her. In this room.

Hermione opened her eyes and saw no one. Her eyes were met with the same sullen, dank room. Now in the grips of twilight it looked even less remarkable. Here, there were no colours. Only grey. Only black. And vials of shimmering blueness reminding her of everything she'd lost. Now she sank down against the wall. She gave the vial back its lid and held it tightly in her palm. Her head was spinning and the edges of her vision shimmered with colours. Hermione cradled her tumbling skull and resisted the urge to be ill. Perhaps it was best that she didn't drink the liquid, if breathing its scent had pushed her to the edge of consciousness, then drinking it may have pushed her to madness. No, only the Pensieve was her window to Bellatrix. The dark witch was far too intense for Hermione to experience on her own. Even the scents which had risen from the vial stuffed their way down her throat like a sheet of cotton.

When she emptied this vial into the Pensieve its waters glowed orange. The waters within churned and flecked Hermione's delicate features with warm light. It was a welcome colour in this sullen room. Bubbles began to form and pop, and with them came small clouds of smoke that reminded Hermione of wildfires. As she leans forward to immerse herself in the memory she gasps because the water is hot, almost scalding.

* * *

Bellatrix watched as great serpents of fire encased the Burrow. The awkward little shack was being squeezed by great trunks of flame and the sound of wailing wood under pressure filled the air. Little Weasels scampered out in all directions, their ginger heads turning and searching for the culprits. Harry stepped forward, of course. Playing the hero after he'd endangered his  _friends_  with ridiculous hiding. The other death eaters fled when the Golden Trio had emerged from the burning hovel. Bellatrix swooped down and appeared before the party. She looked each Weasel in the face before shooting them her signature grin and vanishing into the silken grass surrounding them. It was a disaster waiting to happen, really, all this long, dead grass and a 'house' made from kindling. The place was just begging to be set alight. Bellatrix had raised her wand and saw everyone react instinctively toward her. Though, no one was willing to cast before she did. No one wanted to provoke her. Lest there be some… unfortunate casualties. Before she vanished into the grass the ashen witch surrounded the house with a ring of fire. Two enormous serpents of flame slithered around the rag tag troupe, leaving charred trails. Molly and Arthur leapt to the defence of their home, trying to hold off the serpents, their glowing jaws opening wide. Wide enough to swallow the pair whole.

Bellatrix had run a distance from the burning structure. She crouched low, listening to the sounds of desperation coming to her over the tips of the grass. Everything was flecked with orange light, which flickered and seized with the wind.

"We've got to go after her!" She heard Potter say. Such a valiant hero, always willing to put his loved ones in danger. Here he would send them off into the night to look for a witch capable of unimaginable horrors. Sending all of his pawns out to protect the king. A poor move, Potter.

"Harry, I don't think that's a good idea… I mean, it's pitch black out there, who knows where she could be, or what she would do if we found her!" Here Bellatrix scoffed and cocked her brow, who did this girl think she was dealing with? Not exactly the smartest thing to, directly avoid the dark witch while she was still in earshot.

"Hermione, there's too many of us here for her to get away! We could use her for information!" Harry was raising his voice now. _Temper, temper._

"Yeah, Hermione, we can't let her get away." Ah, the unmistakable slur of Ron Weasel.

"Lets spread out, if she's still here we can find her quicker."

Bellatrix heard the distant sound of footfall and a new rhythm in the grass as it whipped against running legs. The moonlight streamed down from the sky like rain. The tall stalks of dried grass were bleached a luminescent blue and they swayed with anticipation - her pursuers were getting close. She evaporated into ashen particles and rose high above the ground. Beneath her she saw the trio running through the grass. With the burning house at their centre the three paths extended like beautiful patterns into the darkness. She followed Hermione's delicate trail until the glow of the house couldn't reach her anymore. Until the sea of grey and luminous blue swallowed her whole, and most importantly, until Potter and Weasel were well and truly out of sight. It was time then to swoop in and show the Mudblood what she wished to avoid. Quickly she swung in low. Low enough to tangle with the tips of the sea. Low enough, and quick enough to tear Hermione's wand from her grip before she could even blink. She was holding the tool so loosely Bellatrix was surprised she hadn't dropped it on the way out here. The dark witch, as cloud, spiralled high above the girl, watching her turn frantically. Looking for the Death Eater who she knew was there, somewhere hidden in the night. Quietly Bellatrix allowed herself to reassemble. She was standing behind the girl when her particles came together. Hermione stood as if in a picture frame. Bidden by no one, and with no destination. Around her the swaying arms of grass reached out for each other. Reached for connections in the night. Hermione's hair was usually the colour of straw, and now the straw coloured girl too was dipped in moonlight. The stalks of grass twitched uncomfortably at the presence of the dark witch. As if they were trying to warn Hermione. If they could cry out, together, they might have alerted Harry and Ron too. Imagining the collective wails of burning grass made Bellatrix smile.

The dark witch allowed her jaw to open a little and she breathed in gently. Drawing into herself the scent that rose off the Mudblood. She could taste the tiny molecules of Hermione that had drifted to her.

Ahead she saw Granger's head jerk to the side, letting Bellatrix know she was no longer incognito.

"Little Mudbloods shouldn't go walking alone at night without a wand…" Came Bellatrix's velvety voice.

"Bellatrix, please…" Were Granger's only words before she was cut off.

"Bellatrix, please go, please give me my wand back, p-p-please don't hurt me! Which will it be tonight Granger, I've heard them all before, more times than you could imagine." Here her voice came as a harsh whisper, her serpents tongue lashing at the wide eyed girl.

"Please be quiet, I don't want the others to hear you."

Here, Bellatrix was a little shocked, she looked at the girl with wide eyes, unsure how to react.  _Us._ Granger had said ' _us_ '. She was unsure of the last time someone had put them in the same boat, as it were. Still, she couldn't allow herself to be affected, and brushed the ' _us_ ' off with ease. "Come now Granger, it was only a quick snog. No need to be so possessive."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed, trying to find the right words, but failing to do so before the dark witch could chime in again, and chime she did. "Enjoy she show did you?"

Not wanting to miss her change again, Hermione quickly responded, "You could have hurt someone! You could have killed me!" Were it not a monochromatic night Bellatrix would have surely seen the anger redden the girl's cheeks.

"I had it under control, don't get your knickers in a twist," the dark witch whispered playfully. "Did you see that fire? Not even Mr. and Mrs. Weasel combined could hold it off!"

"You shouldn't have done that, it wasn't right." Hermione was forgetting her place. She stamped her foot and balled her fists, anger was such an unflattering emotion for the Mudblood.

"Just who do you think you're speaking with, girl?" Here, Bellatrix took confident strides forward, her dark eyes locking with the girl's. She reached out with her clawed hand and took Granger by the front of her shirt. She spoke harshly now, as if spitting her words down the witch's throat. "Do you think the bloody Ministry locked me up for being  _nice?_  Do you think I rotted in that hell for all those years because I worried about whether I was doing 'the right thing'? No, Hermione, it wasn't the right thing to do," Here, Bellatrix released her hold on the girl's shirt, watching her step fearfully backward and adopted a familiar air of lunacy in her voice, "but wasn't it spectacular!"

Hermione smoothed the wrinkles from her shirt and stared agape at the dark witch. "You're unbelievable."

"Trust me, Muddy, I know."

The usually chatty and defiant Mudblood had no answer. This was surely a victory to be savoured. "Here." Bellatrix tossed Hermione's wand back to her. The girl quickly bent down and picked it up, immediately pointing it at the dark witch. Bellatrix turned from the witch and looked at the flames still surrounding the burrow in the distance. The familiar prickle of her skin caused her arm to react instinctively. A hot force smashed against her arm, before she deflected it with ease.

"Wordless Expelliarmus?! Really? And here I thought you'd come such a long way!"

Bellatrix bent her knees and leaned back. She raised her wand and opened her eyes wide at Hermione, who stood prepared. She threw herself forward, giving her magic enormous force. Once again two enormous flaming serpents erupted from Bellatrix's wand, their tongues lapped eagerly toward the girl, who was, at that moment, afraid for her life. Hermione held onto her wand tightly, with both hands, and watched as a thin tether of blue drew itself from the tip. The tether coiled itself around the twisting snakes, sending clouds of steam into the night air.

"They'll see the fire! Please!" Hermione was panting hard as her white knuckles gripped her wand.

Bellatrix laughed with glee as she watched Hermione struggle against her serpents. "Oh, alright." Hermione fell to her knees, her wand falling down beside her. Her shoulders rose and fell with a want of breath and Bellatrix stood and watched her. "At least you didn't retort with a bloody Stupefy.."

"Please, somebody will have seen us!" It was precious to witness such a deep conflict in the young girl.

"Fine." Bellatrix's mood swings were so rapid that it was hard to keep track of whether she was being playful, or was absolutely furious.

"Watch closely now, Muddy! I will speak, but you may not, remember." Slowly Bellatrix began casting, the gentle waves of her wand mimicking the gentle sways of the grass in crosses. It seemed paradoxical, for the tool to move so carefully and gently when it had driven so many to madness through pain. And then, in a warm voice, she uttered "Abscondere."

Hermione watched Bellatrix repeat this action until she had surrounded the pair entirely. The dark witch saw how Hermione watched. And she saw the girl mimic the actions she'd made with her wand. Yes, this girl did adore magic, and it seemed, in this moment, that she also adored those who used it well. "Cross your heart and hope to die, Muddy." The woman giggled quietly, and slowly walked over to the entranced Hermione. It was as if she'd taken another hit from the basilisk. "Concealment charms can save your life, if you're out numbered, or against a strong opponent. In your case I think the latter is more fitting, don't you?"

A rush of wind lifted itself off the grass, all was quiet except for the shifting of earth beneath her boots. The scent of night kissed at her skin, they were connected to the stars like this. No barrier between stars and earth. Silently the ashes of the Weasel residence fell from the sky like snow. The grey flecks fell onto Hermione's cheek and she brushed them away quickly, as if it could relieve her guilt. The moment was sombre, but Bellatrix still chirped brightly, "Look at you, ey? Consorting with the enemy!"

Hermione let her eyes slip into Bellatrix's. She looked deep into the dark witch, wanting desperately to say 'no' to her, to scream for Ron and Harry. To scream for stability. But instead, she took steps forward and put her hands on the woman's shoulders. But instead she whispered quietly, and almost not at all, "can you teach me?"

Bellatrix furrowed her brow at the girl, who had surrendered. Bellatrix had meant to be impervious and impenetrable, like stone, like the walls of Azkaban, but when she replied it seemed lightning had struck her too, she whispered quietly, and almost not at all, "of course."

"B-but not the Unforgivables." Hermione's eyes scanned frantically over the dark witch's clothes, not willing to face her. Bellatrix watched the shimmering orbs as they reflected both the moon and the flames. Even her eyes were in conflict.

"No?"

"No, thankyou." The girl's politeness surprised Bellatrix, it was as if she were completely defenceless in face of the woman now.

She was even more surprised then, as Hermione reached up slowly and allowed her fingers to rest on the dark witch's jaw. Carefully, in calculated movements, the girl shifted her fingers back and forth, feeling the bones beneath the tips of the digits.

"Hermione? Where are you? Any sign of Bellatrix?" Harry's voice swirled up to meet them as Hermione's body tensed. Though still she caressed the strong jaw of Bellatrix, who smiled as the girl ran her thumbs over the tattoo she'd been given in Azkaban. Again the girl looked deep into the dark witch's eyes, as if in searching for confirmation that they'd meet again, and when Bellatrix nodded, Hermione looked away from her.

"I-I'm here Harry, I haven't seen anything."

Her eyes flicked for a moment back to the dark witch, who's jaw she was cradling. Bellatrix smiled, nay, smirked at her broadly. Suddenly, caught off guard, Bellatrix found herself being kissed by a girl who had been sent into the ocean of grass to hunt her. It was a warm joining, against the darkness of the night, and against the war they fought with each other. But when they pulled apart still Bellatrix smirked while she looked into the dilated pupils of the girl.

"I've just.. I've, um. I-I've got to go."

The dark witch watched as the girl with straw coloured hair disappeared into the moonlit sea. She stepped back into the shadows, remaining unseen by all, and watched the enthusiastic sway of grass in wake of the girl. Beneath the horizon she saw three luminous orbs bounding their way toward the Weasel residence, but one Lumos was brighter than all the others.

  


 


	10. 10, CHAT WITH CISSY

Hermione watched tenderly as her fingertips grazed the transparent lids of the vials. She had been in this timeless room, here, in the bowels of the Ministry, for what felt like an age. She didn't know what time it was, or indeed if time was still passing. All day she had been reliving Bellatrix's memories. Watching those chosen moments from outside her own body. From outside all bodies, as if floating in the surrounding air. Some time ago, Hermione couldn't recall exactly how long, she had ordered the vessels. Now they belonged to two groups: those she had already seen and the ones she was saving for last. There was one glass body, however, that Hermione didn't know just where to put. Once again she lifted it from its wooden cradle and read its label. Had Bellatrix included this one by accident? The contents of it were private, and unfamiliar. Perhaps its memories might illuminate the dark witch, make clear the obscure and whisper to her everything she longed to know about Bellatrix Black. Things that she was always too afraid to ask. No, she thought to herself, there were no accidents when it came to the dark witch. Carefully she opened the vial and watched a fine mist of luminescent blue effervesce from the liquid's surface. She watched, while pouring, the memories slip from that cup as if bound by honey, or molten glass. The other vials had contained a substance akin to water, but this one, perhaps richer or more dense than the others, dripped and pulled. Stretching into a single luminescent strand. The waters of the Pensive churned and bubbled with the new memory. Hermione exhaled and closed her eyes, before immersing her vision within the pool.

* * *

A soft voice made itself known at her door. Bellatrix could hear the anxious touch of fingertips against wood. "…Bella?" It was Narcissa.

She wasn't about to answer her sister and instead turned her back on the disturbance. Turning again to face the window. Granger had escaped and the dark witch was furious. Though, both the Black sisters knew that the insanity Bellatrix had grown into was second only in strength to their bond through blood.

Again the voice called, this time a little louder, "Bella?"

Not wanting to face anyone, not even her sister, Bellatrix snatched her wand out of her pocket and hurled a ball of fire at the door. She watched as the wood smoked for a moment as the paint flaked off it. Quickly the smoke subsided and the entire structure began to droop and sag, trails of charred wood dripped off the surface as the door began to look like melted rubber. Bellatrix wondered then, as quick as lightning and as uncontrollable, what Hermione might have thought of that. Her own clothes had been turned to sticky black tar that night in the Three Broomsticks. Not to be discouraged, again Narcissa knocked. And again, Bellatrix didn't answer. The door, which was once again solid, opened slowly on its hinges. The dark witch turned to face out the window, her eyes scanning over the withered garden for nothing in particular.

"Bella?" Came Narcissa's voice again. Though this time it was clearer, as she stepped into the bedroom cautiously, like a scared child.

There were few people brave enough, or stupid enough, to enter the den of the dark witch. It was only with Narcissa when Bellatrix was as gentle as a lamb.

"What are we going to do now?" The calm and gentle rasp of Narcissa laved over the silence in the room. Bellatrix stayed silent. Grinding her teeth, replaying Granger's escape again and again in her head.

Narcissa stepped into the room further. Under her feet fragments of glass creaked and groaned beneath her feet. Puddles of spilled wine grabbed at her heels and made quiet noises as she walked. This was the discarded body of an unfortunate victim of the dark witch.

Again she called, this time a little more hesitant, "…Bella?"

Quickly, and without warning, Bellatrix snapped like a trap that had been sprung. She turned like a storm to face her sister, rage and fury bubbling in her eyes, and in the muscles in her jaw that clenched paroxsmally. With bared teeth, like an animal, she speaks, "what are we going to do?" Here she took quick steps closer to Narcissa. "What are  _we_  going to do?!" The anger in her voice rose as she spoke. Bellatrix was blinded with rage. Here her voice came as an acidic whisper, spat out with incredible force. "As if I should be grouped together with that display of utter incompetence downstairs. As if that fool you call a husband has the conviction to be in the same league as me.  _You_  need to deal with him…" now her voice flickered and shifted suddenly, it sounded both innocent and menacing when she spoke again, "…or I'm nor sure what will happen to him."

"Bella it wasn't-"

Bellatrix cut her off, again returning to her voice like acid, "If you even think of telling me that Potter's escape doesn't rest solely on the shoulders of your disgraceful husband, I will not be held responsible for my actions."

Evidently striking a nerve Narcissa replied quickly, a new shade of strength in her voice. "I will not have you threatening Lucius in this house. In  _my_  house."

Calmly, but still as threatening as ever, Bellatrix retorted, "Watch yourself, Cissy." She says, with more than just a glimmer of madness in her eyes, "I may have been born as your sister, but I've been called many things since then. Don't forget your place."

The sisters had the same argument, with different details, countless times. Both of them knew that it would go nowhere, though neither was willing to admit subservience. Narcissa's shoulders relaxed and her hands reached for each other and instinctively joined together. The fingers inspecting themselves a moment before her warm pink hand extended, and reached for Bellatrix's claw. The dark witch allowed herself to be gently tugged along by her sister, as if their exchange had been forgotten. Narcissa arrived at the ornate couch in front of the fire and took a seat, gesturing gently for Bellatrix to join her. The dark witch sat, though quickly allowed her posture to slump, with the attitude of a teenager.

"The Mudblood… Granger…" Narcissa spoke carefully.

Bellatrix felt herself stiffen. The muscles across her back tensed and again she began grinding her jaw. A spike of jealousy made itself known to her, nestled in the pit of her stomach. Narcissa's tone had been tender when she let the girl's name slip from her lips. It was the tenderness towards the girl, the enemy, that made Bellatrix grimace. She thought to herself then that it, perhaps, would be better to have the whole wizarding world hate the girl. Have everyone hate her as much as the dark witch should have. And then, Bellatrix thought, then Granger would confide in her alone. Then she would have no choice.

"What of her?" She grunted, not wanting to sound as if mentioning the girl had affected her so much.

"You need to stop seeing her. It's too dangerous."

Bellatrix froze. Though, she was exceptionally still to begin with. She held herself as motionless as possible, she would give no clues to Narcissa. The dark witch remained slumped on the couch and spoke nonchalantly. "What are you implying, Cissy?"

"Whatever you've got going on with Hermione, it needs to end. Now."

Quickly Bellatrix spoke, prompted by the fire of jealousy eroding away her insides. "Don't utter that name within my earshot again. Tell me, sister, what is it you think you know?" Here Bellatrix turned to face Narcissa, attempting to gauge her reaction. Dissecting her every move. The blonde witch looked uncomfortable and turned her gaze away before she spoke again.

"I saw you. Just now. Lucius didn't notice." Here Narcissa paused. Hesitant to speak again, but she did. "It takes a woman to recognise that sort of tenderness."

Bellatrix was overcome by a sinking feeling. As if her viscera were attached to a stone and that stone had been hurled into the sea. She could hardly comprehend her sister's words. She had been so careful, so calculating. But still, here she was sprung, like a delinquent. She shifted her body and rested her chin on her fist. Carefully phrasing her next question. "Tenderness? I had tenderness toward that… Mudblood?" She narrowed her eyes at her sister. "Were you watching, Cissy, did you see the blood, the way I branded her and made her howl?"

Carefully still Narcissa answers, "Yes."

Bellatrix scoffed. Believing with hubris that she had deflected the whole thing.

However, Narcissa continued. "…but I also saw the touches… and the way she looked at you. The way you  _let_  her look at you." She took a breath. A pause, to continue to Bellatrix. "It has to stop."

Caught. Found out. The girl had been brought into the house, Narcissa's house, to be tortured interrogated. But here was Bellatrix being unravelled by her sister in front of a fire. And so, she answered bluntly, "No."

Narcissa continued again, almost pleading, "It's not a question of choice, Bella, it has to stop. If the Dark Lord were to find out…"

Bellatrix snapped at her sister, wracking her mind for answers. Answers that were not the truth. "If he finds out what? That I've been gathering information off the Mudblood by any means necessary? Is that what he'll find out?"

Narcissa stopped and looked Bellatrix in the eyes. An expression of worry and concern crept across her face. She could sense that the dark witch was putting up defences. Walling her off. Any moment now she would refuse to talk about it. She knew Bellatrix well. After all, they'd grown up together. She knows the conversation is over and stands, turning toward the door and puddle of broken glass. Before she can step, like an adder, Bellatrix grips her by the wrist. Hard enough to render her motionless. Quietly, but with an immense tone of force, she spoke, "Speak of this to no one. Understand?"

"Of course." Narcissa gently bowed her head, and walked from the room.

Bellatrix remained still, slowing her breathing. Becoming motionless. Listening carefully for her, now charred, bedroom door to shut. She hears Narcissa gently pull the door closed on its hinges and listens still. Playing out in her mind her sister walking down the stairs, and walking away from her room. She rises quickly from the couch and runs her fingers through her wild hair. Feeling the strands tug at her fingers. Her eyes flair, opening wide. She drags breath deeper into her lungs while her heart pounds faster and faster in her chest. She had known consequence before, but never for tenderness. The digits still tangled in her hair press themselves firmly against the wall of her skull as the dark witch drags them down over her face. Bellatrix exhales into her palms, feeling the heat of her breath pool in front of her face. Thank Merlin, she thought to herself, she hadn't revealed the gravity of her feelings for Granger to Narcissa. She couldn't know the truth. The dark witch wasn't even sure Hermione knew the nature of her feelings for her.

At once the memory became blurry. Sensations melted together and became foggy. Where was she now? She, if indeed Hermione was sure that she still inhabited a physical body, heard voices, muffled voices all around her. They echoed off the walls of her skull. She felt hands. She felt bodies amongst the blur. Hermione didn't know which way was up and felt as if she was tumbling endlessly. The colours of Bellatrix's room swirled around her still. The heat of the fire persisted. She was somewhere and nowhere simultaneously. Suddenly, emerging out of the blur like a ship through fog, Hermione deciphered a hand. She watched, on the verge of consciousness, as it twitched and stuttered between stillness and an action. She looked carefully and discovered the limb to be writing. Scribbling something. After a time of hypnotic observation Hermione recognised the body as Bellatrix's. Writing to her memory on a piece of parchment. A candle was somewhere nearby, its flame shone all too bright for the young voyeuristic witch. If, at that precise foggy moment, she had arms she would have shielded her eyes. Bright. Too bright. The hand wrote as if it were connected to jolts of lightning. Seizing. Resting. Frantic. Was this what it was really like to be inside the mind of Bellatrix? Her recollections were perhaps flashes, blurs, sensations. Not linear, but fragmented.

Slowly, the strokes of the quill morphed into readable characters. Slowly the characters shifted into words, in Bellatrix's own hand:

FILUM LUCIDUS.

* * *

The Pensieve threw Hermione backwards. A gasp leapt from her lips as the cold air touched her dripping face. She landed with her back against the floor, and a few moments later the familiar clatter of wood on stone was heard. The young witch didn't move and simply held her eyes tightly shut, to allow her churning stomach to settle. She groaned in pain and lifted her legs from the floor, bending them at the knee. Like this she stayed for a while, letting her body catch up with her mind. Bellatrix must have tampered with the rest of the memory. It felt as if it had been a violent process, through brute force, Hermione suspected. How long ago had the dark witch done it? The contents of the vial had been so thick. Was that it?

At once Hermione remembered the parchment. While it was still fresh and ignoring her stiff and aching body, the girl reached over and picked up her wand. First she mouthed the words to be sure, and then, pointing her wand at something inanimate. In case the spell was violent.

" _Filum lucidus_." She whispered, hesitantly.

Instantly bright tethers of cord shot out of her wand, bathing the entire room in a bright blue light. The tethers grew longer and longer, like disembodied vessels. The strands arced back around to touch her. She watched hesitantly as the cords reached for her wrists. As soon as one of the blue, glowing tendrils touched her flesh Hermione knew the spell was not harmful. No, quite the opposite. The warm strings wrapped around her wrists and grew longer still. They circled up her arms, leaving a trail of warm skin in their wake. Up, up, up. They claimed more and more of her body. More tendrils grew from her wand. The thin arms reached around her neck, and around her body. Hermione began to feel exceptional. The whole room was illuminated in a blue light. And she is so warm. She allowed her eyes to close at the sensations. Allowed the threads their freedom. Bellatrix may have been incapable of such tenderness, but she had made a spell, for Hermione only, that was exceptionally tender. It was presence. It was exquisite. Hermione smiled to herself and lay back down against the floor, still with her eyes closed. Allowing the tethers to caress and hold her. Nobody understood magic like Bellatrix.


	11. 7, POTTER INTERRUPTS

As if she were an uncontrollable pubescent child Hermione kissed Bellatrix whenever she could. At that particular moment Bellatrix had the young witch pressed up against the hefty trunk of a tree in the middle of some godforsaken forest. The godforsaken forest that was filled with an innumerable quantity of trees, all mostly identical to this one. Bellatrix pressed her body hard against Hermione's. She adored the feeling of a body giving beneath hers, whether by magic or otherwise. For now, in this particularly unremarkable stretch of woodland, Bellatrix allowed the girl to kiss her. She allowed the girl freedom to touch her wherever she pleased. She allowed the girl's arms to slither around her neck. The frozen air of the night surrounded everything like the currents of a river. The warmth between them, between their mouths, was more than welcome. Quietly, in an unchecked back alley in her mind, Bellatrix was thankful to be so warm. Since Azkaban she had never been so grateful to be warm. Pain was a sensation that Bellatrix had no difficulty ignoring, but the grip of the frigid nights in Azkaban were never far from her. She absorbed the heat like a lizard in the sun and was so grateful then for Hermione's warm body and hot breath.

Hermione seemed content to kiss Bellatrix endlessly. As if all her goals and aspirations were dissolved by the cold night air and all that was left was Bellatrix's mouth, and Bellatrix's neck. This girl was so unlike the lion she had wrestled with in the past. She had no teeth, no claws. She seemed perfectly content to simply kiss her. Bellatrix could only imagine the dreary horrors the girl would have endured in the woods with Potter and Weasel all this time. It would have been enough to make anyone sides, perhaps that was it. Bellatrix moves her hands to either side of Hermione's face, cradling her head and looking directly into her weary eyes. It was clear that all the horrors of the world were taking their toll on the young and inexperienced witch.

"You're awfully quiet this evening, Pet. Having a crisis of allegiance are we? You know I wouldn't blame you after stomping around the woods with those two insufferable boys all this time."

As if the comment never quite settled in her ears, or she was getting used to Bellatrix's constant provoking, Hermione unashamedly returned the dark witch's gaze. As content as she seemed to simply kiss Bellatrix endlessly, she seemed as equally content to look into her eyes without want of more. Bellatrix felt all-too-tender thumbs gently trace the hard line of her jaw.

"Teach me something." It was a statement, rather than a question. And the statement came as scarcely more than a whisper. A plea that came from somewhere deep within the younger witch, where Bellatrix imagined her as a young and eager child with no hesitations about the world. No hesitations about the horrors she would experience. No sense of danger. Bellatrix knew that the girl should have been afraid. She should have been afraid to whisper so defencelessly to the Death Eater. She should have been afraid to ask anything from her.

They had an uneasy sort of comfortableness between them. Hermione knew that Bellatrix wouldn't hurt her, and Bellatrix knew that Hermione respected her. Complacency concerned the dark witch. It was dangerous to expect anything. Instead of lashing out at the girl Bellatrix, for a time, looked over the fine features of the witch. Allowing the long nails of her thumbs to run over the soft skin of Hermione's lips. Azkaban had changed Bellatrix. It seemed like another life when she thought of herself before that place. For a time it was all she knew, and she feared it might be all she ever would. The dense, dark and fetid trappings of its walls were impenetrable. She had escaped the prison, yes, but her youth had already died and rotted to ashes long ago.

Hermione, while looking at her as if nothing bad could possibly happen in the world, had asked to be taught. Bellatrix was pleased, proud almost, with how committed the girl was. It didn't seem to matter, as the young witch looked into her face earnestly, where the intent of the spells she would learn came from. It seemed to only matter then that she be fully immersed and capable with all forms of magic. It was admirable. It made them both wild.

Sensing the Death Eater's hesitation, Hermione again whispered, "Anything."

Bellatrix smirked as she felt the hot breath come quicker out of the young girl as she panted with her hands cradling the older woman's neck. Uncannily like herself there seemed to be a connection between the Mudblood getting off and the Mudblood learning new, powerful things. It gave a new relevance to Hermione's notorious reputation of being teacher's pet. In a strike of predatory jealously Bellatrix hoped that she'd never been with any of her teachers like this before. In any other situation the thought of McGonagall laid out on her desk at the front of the class would have made Bellatrix shudder. But just at that moment Hermione's fingers were slowly toying with the soft strands at the back of her neck and she merely smiled.

Slowly Hermione leans forward and gently sweeps her lips over the hard line of Bellatrix's jaw. A hot cascade of breath pouring down the dark witch's front. "Please." She utters.

Bellatrix moves away from Hermione, stroking her lips still with the pads of her thumbs. She waits a moment longer, holding back her answer, her reply, to see the witch squirm. To make the girl think that she might not answer at all.

"Well, there was a little something I was saving for a rainy day…" With a very particular spell in mind Bellatrix giggled. Her joyous mewling would make the younger witch it was some spell or other that the Death Eater had used to torture someone in the past. Bellatrix saw a bolt of unwariness string across the girl's vision. She wondered if she would ever tire of teasing the girl.

But instead of protesting, stamping her feet, or lecturing Bellatrix on morality Hermione simply nodded. It seemed as if all the fire had died out of this girl, this witch, this student, after so much time with Potter and Weasel. She looked exhausted. A possessive rumbling churned within her, like the sound of distant thunder electrifying some far off realm. Having the girl's energy and talent wasted with those two morons rubbed Bellatrix the wrong way, as if she were some exceptionally particular cat petted by new and clumsy hands. Hermione belonged to her, and no one else.

The dark witch stepped back from the girl. Hermione's hands fell through the air softly and lulled at her ides. It was alarming how quickly Bellatrix's body became used to having the girl so close. At having her body pressed against hers, and is tremendously aware of the absence as she steps away. The dark witch, decided now on what spell she would teach the girl, raises her wand. She points the gnarled length of wood at Hermione's chest and sees a worried expression climb onto her features. At least the anaesthetic of the woods, and spending so much time with Harry and Ron hadn't made her totally comatose.

"Now, would I hurt you, Poppet?" Feigning innocence Bellatrix questions the girl, who meets her words with a look of concern. Truthfully the witch would hurt Hermione, and she had done so before. Moving her wand as if she were inscribing the air with some delicate script, "Remember that I still never want to hear you cast anything."

Bellatrix could see Hermione tentatively licking her lips, slowly drawing the strips of pink flesh into her mouth and pulling at them gently with her teeth. She was used to getting everything right in school, but this was nothing like school. Standing in a forest at night with one of the most notorious Death Eaters of them all learning wordless magic, it had to have the girl nervous. If only Hogwarts were this demanding of its students, maybe then the wizarding world wouldn't have become such a pathetic troupe of pencil pushers like the bloody Ministry. It was insufferable.

Bellatrix spoke very clearly, paying deliberate attention to enunciating the incantation so it could be as clear as daylight in Hermione's mind. "Lux maxima."

Tiny golden orbs of light emerged from the tip of Bellatrix's wand. The orbs hovered in the air between the two witches, bathing everything in a gentle golden hue, comparable to candle light. But the orbs weren't bright enough to light up the surrounding forest. Providing light wasn't the purpose of this spell, but Hermione didn't know that yet. Delicately and silently the orbs churned in the night air, circling close enough to Hermione's face that she could see that they weren't just orbs, but tiny golden fireflies that had flown silently from Bellatrix's wand. The dark witch watched the girl intently as her hand absentmindedly pawed at the neck of her shirt. Bellatrix could see the composure of the younger witch waning at the spectacle of the creatures. It was almost as if all the mystical sights of Hogwarts had been lost on her and she was seeing magic for the first time. Mudbloods… she thought.

The golden creatures hovered in the air for a time longer, before slowly gliding through the air and coming to settle on Hermione's clothes. The girl moves her hands to hang by her sides and Bellatrix takes immense pleasure and delight as the little golden creatures walk about on her clothes. A look of wariness comes over Hermione's face, unsure of what was to happen next. The dark witch simply smirked at the girl.

"Is that-…"

"Ah, ah, ah. Just watch." Hermione began to speak but Bellatrix cut her off, keeping her quiet so she didn't miss a moment of the spell's effects.

The dark witch followed the girl's gaze as it returned to where the golden fireflies lingered on her. A noise of surprise slips from Hermione's lips as the glowing creatures began to sink into her skin as if her chest were a great ocean. Bellatrix can clearly see the golden glow fade away as the fireflies disappear into her body. Hermione, having no doubt not seen a spell like this in all her life, begins pressing her fingers lightly against the skin beneath which the fireflies were still visibly glowing. The gentle golden light cast soft golden tones onto Hermione's face and skin. The scattered golden orbs in Hermione's chest began roaming slowly, coming to converge over the girl's heart, becoming one brighter glow, as if there were a candle in her chest, before sinking further into her body. The gentle glow disappeared now, obscured beneath Hermione's breasts and ribs.

"Bellatrix…?"

"Shh…" The dark with could liken the experience of watching Hermione in this moment to when she was coming at someone with her beloved dagger. Their eyes were wide. Their breaths were shallow. They always feared the worst. And rightly so. But in this particular moment Hermione's breath started coming quick and deep. The dark witch watched the swell and fall of her chest as the girl's eyes fluttered shut and she stumbled backward, catching herself against the trunk of the tree. The rough and mottled bark of the tree pulled against the soft skin of Hermione's palms. Hermione's eyes are screwed shut and Bellatrix is delighted to see the witch so defenceless and caught off guard.

It was a different sort of powerful spell that could sweep a witch off their feet. Subversive spells could be much more effective than violent spells, given the right circumstance of course. Although it would have been ridiculous to use a spell like this on the Longbottoms. Bellatrix took a few calculated steps forward and lifted her hands to the trunk either side of the writhing Hermione's head, resting her hips flat against the girl's. Hermione's head lulled back against the tree as ragged and deep breaths were drawn in over her lips. Bellatrix knew the girl was swimming in a multitude of exceptional feelings, and she was a marvel to watch. Slowly the dark witch leans into her and places hot kisses on the young witch's neck with her full and soft lips.

It was a different kind of torture, with Hermione dissolving into a shimmer of pleasure. The Death Eater knew she could never feel like this with anyone else. It was a long term sort of torture. The sort that bound Hermione to her. No matter who kissed her next, it could never compare to how she was feeling right now.

"Hermione?" The unmistakable drawl of Potter came from a distance through the trees. An exasperated groan crawled from Hermione's lips, who reflexively wraps her arms around the dark witch's shoulders. Her face was hidden against Bellatrix's neck, hiding her glaring shame at not wanting to leave yet.

The dark witch steps back from the girl and, as before, begins to delicately trace her wand through the air. One by one the glowing creatures emerge from within Hermione's chest. At the final departure the girl shivers and Bellatrix imagines that's how it would be when someone removed themselves from Hermione's blazing core. The talented young witch's hands fly up to cover her face as she groans a second time, who ought to be overcome with an irrepressible sensation of loss, as if something hugely significant was missing from her now.

"My friends and I have got to go, pet."

Desperately Hermione launches herself forward, taking hold of the dark witch's arm and hand, and lifts the sinewy digits to her lips, kissing them lovingly as if they belonged to royalty. A smug grin crept across Bellatrix's face, knowing that she had just ruined the girl – who could now never feel whole again with anyone else.

"Have fun with the boys."


	12. 11, LESTRANGE MANOR

One last vial. Only one. All day she had been reliving her time with Bellatrix through the other woman’s eyes. These vials were a safe path backwards. She adored them. And she cherished them. Hermione held the last vial in her hand, watching its silvery contents swirl back and forth with the gentle movements of her body. Her heart fluttered nervously in her chest. One last vial. She had kept it for last. All the other memories that Bellatrix had saved would seem insignificant to this one, this last one. The young girl’s heart had sunk when she had read its label hours ago. Not through any unbearable weight of sorrow, but simply because of the significant and heavy reality that were her feelings for the dark witch. She never would have thought of Bellatrix as sentimental. She would not have ever expected such a collection of memories to exist anywhere but outside her mind, and even then Hermione had doubted whether she recalled them at all. But here, resting gently in her palm, was proof against all that she had previously thought. In the weeks and months and years to come Hermione knew without a doubt that she would revisit the memories in these vials countless times, like reading a love letter over and over until it became soft and pliable as fabric. But the memories themselves would never tarnish. They would stay as they are now, as brilliant as gold, endlessly. Hermione had one more memory left. One more dip into the Pensieve. One last vial.

It was surreal to see herself from the dark witch’s perspective. It was surreal to sit inside her head and watch and listen and _feel._ Bellatrix always had such an impenetrable wall around her. Hermione never knew what she was thinking. It was remarkable to experience, then, all their moments together from the other perspective. These vials, these memories, were an endless sequence of revelations. And they made her miss the woman terribly. She was so sure now of how Bellatrix felt. She was so sure now of everything. It was agony. It had been years since she’d seen the woman. Years since her fingers had entwined with hers. Every now and again a delicate whisper of scent would come to her that reminded her so strongly of the dark witch that it brought memories of all their meetings flooding back to her. As vividly as was contained in these vials.

It felt as if, now looking back at her past with the woman, that somewhere unseen she had made a terrible mistake. Like she had taken a wrong turn along the way and now had to watch all her alternative lives sweep off into the all-too-prosperous distance. There was no way to get back there now, and she had to face all this life alone. Without Bellatrix. The notorious sadist and Death Eater who had taught her so much. Who had given her so much. It felt all wrong. It felt like a cruel joke. It felt hopeless.

With her legs folded uncomfortably beneath her Hermione sat on the hard stone floor. She held the vial in her hand and let her eyes fall over the _Bellatrix_ carved into her arm. It had been with her for so long now that she couldn’t imagine being without it. It had become a part of her as much as her freckles or the colour of her eyes. Bellatrix was always with her now. On her skin. In her mind. At night was when the witch was closest to her. After the sun had set it seemed like no time had passed between the last moment gone, and the last moment she was with Bellatrix. She dreaded these hours that might bring the witch close to her. Her heart was raw in these hours.

Hermione holds the glass vial close to her chest and closes her eyes. Feeling the cold touch of the thing press lightly against her skin.

Hermione was aware of herself. Which was unusual for these memories. She was overcome still with a feeling of preciousness, which had not subsided when she’d immersed herself into the silvery liquid. It was as if the beginning of this memory were not fully formed, perhaps Bellatrix had forgotten, or simply not remembered, what happened first. Hermione recognised the lavish interior around them as the Lestrange Manor. It was different to the Malfoy’s. Less spacious, but somehow even more decadent than the ornate fittings encrusted to every surface there.

Stalking through the house quietly, with intimate knowledge of which floorboard would set of a creak or a groan, the dark witch advanced through several open doorways. Ascending the disused stairway towards her own bedroom she allowed her footfall to sound throughout the hall. A gentle way of letting her company know that she was on her way to the door. Pushing aside the enormous slab of polished, dark oak beams of milky light poured into the hallway. As Bellatrix crosses the threshold she sees Hermione standing at an open window on the far side of the room. In any other situation the dark witch would have hexed and cursed and beaten an intruder into the ground, she would have brimmed and spilled over with rage. But in this situation she felt nothing of the gnawing ache of rage. And as tears roll down Hermione’s cheeks as she walks over to the woman Bellatrix feels a twinge in her stomach, and in her fingers, that could only be described as totally the opposite of rage.

Hermione throws her arms around Bellatrix’s shoulders, holding the woman close to her. It’s a desperate sort of action, wanting to extinguish the loneliness she’d felt seconds before cradling herself by the window. Bellatrix wraps her arms around the girl’s waist and feels the quick breath come in and out of her. The dark witch closes her eyes and revels in the sensation, unsure of when she might get the chance to embrace the girl so freely again.

Sobs wrack through the younger girl, Bellatrix can feel them against her body. “You cant. You can’t. You can’t.”

“I have to. You know I have to.” It was an inevitability that left a bitter sorrow in either woman’s mouth. It was useless to fight, they both knew the world was unchangeable.

Pulling back from their embrace to look Hermione in the face Bellatrix can see the unchangeable inevitable inscribed in the girl’s face. Their love of magic had brought them so unbearably close together that their parting was like losing a limb. Bellatrix had grown so fond of the girl. She had become so proud of her. She was so much stronger than anyone had ever given her credit for, and she had ultimately redeemed herself. Exalted herself. The younger witch, and her capabilities, had become so inexpressibly sublime to Bellatrix. And for all her life, the dark witch thought, no one had understood her quite like this girl. It should have crushed her that for so long there was not a single soul by whom she felt understood, but to have a simple and impossibly strong connection with Hermione now made her… _happy_. It was remarkable that after so many years withering in Akzaban she could use that word to describe herself now. She was happy.

“It could never have lasted, pet.”

Hermione’s eyes are red with sorrow and her began to tremble as if she were about to burst into tears. The girl covers her own mouth with her hand to hide the sobs as they come. She reaches out tenderly into the space between them and places her free hand on Bellatrix’s cheek.

“But I love you.” The dark witch could hear the ache in the girl’s voice, as if in some naïve world she had been told that love conquered all, and as long as you loved someone everything would work out alright. Hermione was looking life in the face at last, and didn’t like what she saw. “I wouldn’t have done this for anyone but you.” The dark witch hears the anger rise in the young woman’s voice, as if she had a tremendously bitter taste in her mouth.

Bellatrix simply stares at Hermione for a moment. Immobilised by her confession. She felt great and unshakable tethers around heart flex and crush the scarred muscle, as if the two were bound together. She was overcome then with a sense of belonging. Terrible, terrible belonging.

Slowly she snakes her arms around the girl’s waist and pulls her in close. As close as her arms allow her to, without hurting the shaking creature.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” At the utterance it was as if the gnarled and battered gates of Bellatrix’s heart were at once thrown open. As if some great force had pushed its way against her body and out the other side and now felt open air on her bared interior. All of this had started because Bellatrix couldn’t stand the thought of a Muggle-born being capable with magic. She never could have predicted how much Hermione would mean to her, here now at the end.

Bellatrix draws back from the witch, and covers her face with her hands. Trying, in a way, to push and force her emotions back into place. As if some joint was out of place. When she opens her eyes again Hermione is looking at her as if she were bleeding to death right there. Her eyes are glistening and full of tears.

“It has to end.” Bellatrix says quietly.

“But you haven’t taught me everything yet.” Hermione was trying her best to form a logical argument that the dark witch couldn’t contest with. She was used, of course, to having the answers to everything, or at least within reach. “I can’t learn what you know from books. I can’t.”

“You don’t want to learn everything I know.” The dark witch spoke frankly, trying desperately to push herself back into her usual unreachable composure. She wanted to put a barrier between them again. To separate Hermione’s heart from her own. It was all she could think to do.

“Don’t tell me what I want.”

“You don’t-… you don’t want that.” Bellatrix brushes the remark off as if it were nothing, to try and show Hermione that she shouldn’t care. That she shouldn’t want to be close to the notorious witch. Bellatrix could practically feel the girl’s desperate pleas to keep her close.

The dark witch feels her heart pounding in her chest. In that moment she doubted her own strength. Unsure if she would simply collapse in on herself rather than facing life without this wonderful creature near her. Looking at the witch in front of her Bellatrix knew that in this moment Hermione was infinitely stronger than she was.

The dark witch steps away from the girl and walks to her bed, throwing herself down on the covers. She lifts her arms up and covers her eyes, hiding from this situation that made her feel like she might burst into whirl of cinders. Somewhere by her feet Bellatrix feels Hermione’s weight settle on the bed. It pauses there for a moment before moving closer towards her. A gentle falling of curls meet the exposed skin of the woman’s chest, followed by the all too familiar weight of Hermione’s head. As if instinctively Bellatrix’s arms come down and hold the warm body as close to hers as possible.

The gentle rise and fall of her own breathing soothes the body that’s pressed against her side. The dark witch feels slender fingers snake around her waist and bury themselves at her back. In this precise moment all that really mattered, or all that Bellatrix wanted to matter, was her and this glorious creature hovering weightlessly above the surface of the earth. Nothing was real here, while everything outside the window, which Bellatrix’s eyes lazily scanned, was painfully real. Allegiances. Wars. The dark witch imagined them somewhere else. Somewhere safe. Some imaginary realm where their pasts didn’t matter and all that mattered was that their bodies fit perfectly together when they lay like this. Hermione begins to nuzzle Bellatrix’s neck softly, bringing the dark witch’s thoughts back into the room. She drags her nails along Hermione’s forearm, from the crest of her elbow to the tips of her middle finger. Over and over again to commit the limb to memory.

Tenderly, slowly, and softly Hermione’s lips parted and were pressed against the hot skin of Bellatrix’s neck. The rhythm of it was so different to that first time they had kissed. Then it had been consuming and fast and desperate, but now it was desperate for another reason. And as if she were a precious and valuable commodity Hermione Granger kissed Bellatrix Lestrange’s neck so slowly she feared she might implode from the bolts of electricity coming from the girl’s mouth.

“I’m so happy you chose me.” The hot and unexpected words were whispered against her neck.

“I didn’t chose you. You looked at me in the Ministry like an insolent child. I thought I should put you in your place.” She speaks frankly, thinking back to the young girl she had seen in that moment.

At her neck she hears Hermione scoff, “And where is my place?”

“With me and my charming personality.” Bellatrix could feel the girl snicker at her neck.

The dark witch reaches down blindly for Hermione’s arm, wrapping her long fingers around it and bringing it close to her face. She presses her full lips against the sensitive flesh, feeling under her lips the raised and healing wound she had left on the girl.

“Everyone says I’m mad for keeping it there.”

“You are.”

She feels Hermione smile against her neck. Bellatrix’s fingers are toying with her golden hair in long and lazy strokes. She moves her hand down and entwines her fingers with the young woman’s, who squeezes her hand.

“Come here and let me kiss you.” She says plainly.

She feels the weight at her side shift. Hermione props herself up on her elbow and simply looks at the dark witch beneath her for a time, seeming to take in every detail of her face. Slowly she leans in and Bellatrix feels the muscles across her chest tighten as she reflexively moves her hand to Hermione’s shoulder. The girl stops only a few centimetres short of meeting Bellatrix’s lips, who holds motionless above her. The dark witch moves her hand to behind Hermione’s head. She knows that she’s being tested. Being teased. Bellatrix uses her strength to pull the girl’s mouth down to meet hers. The woman parts her lips and moves her mouth slowly against Hermione’s, making it agonising for the other witch to resist. Bellatrix flattens her tongue and runs it over the girl’s top lip, and noises of pleasure slip from her. She rakes her teeth over Hermione’s bottom lip, tugging the flesh into her mouth as she feels a sharp intake of breath at the sensation. Slowly the dark witch continues to kiss the girl, using her tongue and teeth to great effect, amidst the warmth and depth of the kiss.

Slowly, warmly, deeply Hermione beings to return the dark witch’s kiss. The sensation sent shimmers of pleasure through her entire body. This girl made her feel luminous and glorious like a Patronus. Bellatrix moves her hand from Hermione’s shoulder to the crest of her hip. Her long and dextrous fingers slipped easily under the girl’s shirt. She had such warm, soft skin. As some kind of flower, with her hand under Hermione’s shirt, the dark witch feels their kiss become deeper. Their breaths and tongues mingling during the action. Moving her hand further up Bellatrix can feel the swell of Hermione’s chest as she pants from their kiss. Beneath the skin and bones the dark witch can feel her heart racing. She pulls the girl even closer to her, overcome with a desire to bring her impossibly near, while she slides her hand further up, towards her breasts. Hermione is moving against her now, pressing her hips hard against Bellatrix. The dark witch’s breath comes in ragged bursts, while her breath comes trembling in and out of her lungs. Like a great tangle of serpents inside of her. The pads of her fingers come in contact with the soft give of Hermione’s breath and the girl moans into her mouth, pressing more of their bodies into contact. Bellatrix toys with the flesh there. Teasing her. Always teasing. Hermione is kissing her hard, crushing their lips together. None of it would ever be enough. They could never be close enough to each other. It would never last long enough. Their desperate cups would never be filled.

When Bellatrix comes she tells Hermione that she loves her. She lies still, trembling from her core with Hermione’s hot skin pressed against her. The dark witch gently runs her fingers through the girl’s hair once more. The younger witch kisses her lightly wherever she wants. Her face. Her neck. Her chest. Anywhere. Their bodies belonged to each other.

“Did you mean it?” Hermione asks quietly.

“More than anything.” Bellatrix’s love for the girl was her undoing. It was heart-breaking and heart-mending all at once. It was marvellous and terrifying all at once. It was everything.

“I love you.”

Bellatrix Lestrange was her undoing. She could never love anyone the way they loved each other. Not ever again. What could anyone offer her that could come close to the incredible majesty of a creature like Bellatrix. These vials and their memories would be her love now, and she knew nobody could ever possibly understand that.

It was over now. Letting out a deep sigh Hermione retrieves the box the vials were delivered in. It was ornate and heavy, the inside lined with a superb blue silk and trimmed with silver thread. It looked as if the ocean were contained in an old wooden box. Gently Hermione lifts the trembling rack of vials back into their box and deftly closes the lid. They were hers now. They were safe now. Her eyes fell again over the lid of the box, a yellowing piece of parchment was stuck to it. She had seen it when, with a pop, a house elf she had not seen before delivered it to her. It read:

Hermione Granger

c/o the deceased estate

Bellatrix Lestrange

Her heart had sunk like a great stone when she had seen it first, but with these vials now it was not all lost to time. Bellatrix still carried on, in a way, like this. Hermione noticed the lifting corner of the parchment and lifted it gently. She was not so concerned with keeping this particular message in good condition, it would do nothing but hurt her each time she returned to this oaken box. From beneath the parchment a second slip of paper fell and landed on the floor beside her. Slowly she stoops down and delicately lifts it off the stone.

Hermione turns the paper over to see an image of her and Bellatrix in the Lestrange Manor gardens. Bellatrix is kissing her on the cheek with her wild hair blowing in the wind. Hermione is smiling with her arms around the woman, looking somewhere off into the distance. The two figures stay like this. Together.

Hermione smiles quietly to herself.

 


End file.
